Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (34 page)

Michelle’s hand was almost to the latch when Andy said, “Wait
a minute.”

He swiveled his neck around to look at Thompson and asked, “Have
you been in here, this room I mean, or for that matter any of the other ones
back here?  And if so are they empty?”

Thompson nodded before answering. “Yeah, all four of these
rooms are clear, you know, secure the immediate area first . . . I wish we
would have done that up front.” Andy nodded as Thompson continued, “Anyway, me
and CC used his flashlight and swept these rooms first thing after we got back
here. They’re all empty, at least of hostiles—although that room there . . .”
he indicated the storage room Michelle was about to enter with a slight bob of
his head . . . “is a freakin’ mess. Don’t you ever throw anything away?”

Andy chuckled at the joke obviously made at the expense of her
housekeeping skills, but Michelle wasn’t laughing. This was the second potentially
fatal mistake she had made in the last five minutes. First the flashlight, and
now she had just about blundered into a room that she had no idea if it was
clear or not.

“Get a grip on things girl,” Michelle chided herself. She
paused, taking a few breaths to calm her nerves, and then turned the latch. The
door opened quietly, but the dim illumination from the hallway didn’t penetrate
enough for her to see very well.

“Thompson,” she whispered, “did you say that Lieutenant
Calhoun had a flashlight?”

“Yes ma’am, but the batteries went down a short time after I
got him into that conference room.”

“Of course they did,” Michelle fumed under her breath.

“Can’t you just grab the radios?” Andy asked.

“No, they’re locked in the safe and I’ll need the light to
work the combination.”

Andy grunted and handed Michelle the light from Thompson. Taking
it from his hands, she stepped across several piles of filing boxes that were
haphazardly scattered in seemingly random piles in order to make it to the safe.
Several more piles would have to be moved—or at least kicked out of the way—before
Michelle would be able to open the door of the large, Browning gun safe. Andy
peeked in, his eyes wide with wonder at what must have seemed to be a
disorganized, chaotic jumble of boxes and papers, but was in fact another work
in progress. Michelle moved the boxes, and then turned her attention back to
the safe—spinning the correct combination and opening it up. Four pelican cases
were stacked on top of one another on the right side—she tossed those out to
Andy. Then she went for the guns. Michelle’s office didn’t keep an entire
arsenal, but they were required to have a minimum on hand for training and
operational purposes. The minimum at her office included a pair of AR15’s—civilian
version, semiautomatic only, three more Remington 870 twelve gauges—almost
identical to what Walter had given her, and several cases of ammo—most of it
for the AR’s and her Glock. She scooted closer and grabbed the first of the ammo
boxes, sliding it towards her and lifting it out.

SCHREEEECH
.

Michelle dropped the box and drew her Glock as a metallic
squeal from the back door broke the silence. Andy spun as the darkened hallway
filled with sunlight.

“INFECTED,” Andy yelled as he crouched and fired.
Kaboom .
. .Kaboom
. Thompson leaned forward and thrust the shotgun over top of
Andy’s head. The muzzle blast momentarily deafened Michelle when he fired. Shaking
her ears to clear them, Michelle shoved her head out into the hallway—Glock and
flashlight pointed towards the back door. Andy stopped firing as the door
screeched mostly closed, once again driving the hallway back into semi shadows.
The flashlight faintly illuminated a body lying next to the back door.

“Damn, my ears are ringing,” she hissed.

“Mine too—everybody OK?” Andy asked.

Michelle nodded, and Thompson said, “I think so sir.”

“Good,” Andy said, “let’s grab these boxes and get the hell
out of . . . .”
CRASH!

The door between the hallway and the front reception area
splintered. Michelle jerked the flashlight in that direction and saw a bloody
gray arm pounding through the remaining frame. A deep hissing and gurgling
sound emanated from the ghoul that was smashing his way toward them. With a
loud
whack,
the torn and battered head of the monster burst through the
center of the door, pausing for a moment like a ghastly taxidermy mount. Its
yellow eyes glared with unchecked rage.

“FERAL!” Michelle yelled as she braced her shoulder against
the wall and fired. Thompson swung the shotgun and pumped several rounds in
that direction as the ghoul shredded the remaining door and started down the
hall. Michelle could see the impacts tearing his flesh as the rounds smashed
into him, but he kept coming—clawing along the wall and pulling himself closer
and closer. Finally, one of Thompson’s shots took out the fiend’s knee, and she
heard—or rather sensed—that Andy had moved up and was firing also. Two more
shots and her slide locked back. She dumped the empty magazine and grabbed
another off her belt—slamming it in and hitting the extended slide release with
her thumb. Thompson was screaming obscenities at the creature as he continued
to fire, and by the time she was back on target, the creature was down. One of Thompson’s
or Andy’s shots must have hit the feral in the head or neck.

“Well,” Michelle huffed out between adrenaline charged
breaths, “that was fun. We should try to do that more oft . . .”

BOOM!

The explosion of Andy’s shotgun firing almost made Michelle
jump out of her skin. She spun around and saw him facing the other way; toward
the back door where a second body now lay. Shit.

“WHAT IN THE HOLY SHIT PILE WAS THAT . . . WHAT THE HELL’S A
FERAL?” Thompson shouted, his voice tinged with fear.

“Keep your voice down, private,” Michelle hissed as she
reached into her pocket and handed him more shells for the twelve gauge. Andy
was reloading as well.

Andy stepped down the hall toward the metal door, moving
around the dead bodies as he did. The door was not latched, and he peeked out
to the right, the only direction he could see without opening the door further.
He slid back a bit and Michelle saw him jockeying for position to view out the
bullet holes in the metal door. Apparently satisfied he retreated back.

“I can’t see anything, but I don’t really have a good angle
to look all around. That said, if were gonna go, I’d recommend we light a fire
under our asses and get moving.” Michelle whispered her agreement as she handed
more shells to Thompson.

“Pull the back door shut until it latches,” she said to Andy.
He moved down the hall, stepped around the bodies and pulled the handle until the
door closed with an audible
click
.

Andy came back and Michelle whispered, “OK, I need ten
seconds in my office, and then we’ll pull back to here. After that, you two get
to cover my ass while I stack the guns, ammo and radios near the back door. Let’s
try and do this quietly people, alright?” Andy nodded and Thompson said, “Yes
ma’am.”

Michelle let them lead the way with the shotguns as she held
the flashlight over her head, pointing toward the opening where the feral had
torn through the door. As soon as they passed her office door, their trio
stopped. Enough light was trickling in through the front glass windows—or where
they used to be anyhow—that they would be able to see any movement.

“You both ready?” she asked.

“Go,” Andy replied.

Michelle took the flashlight and darted into the office. True
to her word, she was out in less than ten seconds, and they slid back down the
hallway in a close triangle formation. A few feet from the storage door they
stopped. Andy whispered something to Thompson that Michelle didn’t catch, and
they took up firing positions—one standing, one kneeling. Without wasting
another second, Michelle started grabbing boxes of ammo and hoofing them toward
the back door. In three minutes she was breathing heavy and sweating, but all
of the safe’s contents were stacked by the door. Sporadic gunfire outside had
started with her first trip, but tapered off to the occasional shot by the time
she had finished.

“We’re stacked and ready,” Michelle said as she crouched down
and picked up the Glock magazine she had dropped earlier.

“OK,” Andy said, “tell me if this sounds reasonable. You and
I take over guard duty. I’ll look through the bullet holes in the door and if
it looks clear, I’m going to open it and give you a STOP or GO after a quick
look around. If it’s a go, I’m going down to the truck and unlock it while
Thompson grabs the first load of supplies and you cover the hallway. Once the
doors are open Thompson will bust ass and take everything down to the truck
while you and I are keeping everybody alive.”

Michelle looked at Thompson and asked, “Is that OK with you?”

“Yeah, but I got two questions ma’am.”

She waited.

He continued, “First thing is what if he yells stop after he
opens the door . . . what’s the plan then?  And secondly, if everything goes
good and we get to your truck with all the gear, where the hell are we going
to?”

Michelle looked at Andy, then back toward Thompson as she
answered. “If the call is stop, then we shut the door again and take up
positions watching in that direction . . .” she indicated toward the splintered
door, “until we re-evaluate.” Everybody nodded and she continued, “If we make
it to the truck safely, we’re going to head back toward my house. Andy, do you
remember the way we came in?”

“Yeah.”

“Just follow it back and I’ll tell you when to turn.”

Michelle looked at both of them, searching for further
questions, but they were silent and still. “OK then, let’s do this.”

They moved back toward the metal door with Andy leading the
way. Once in position, Michelle maneuvered the flashlight so it was shining
down the hall on the door where the feral had busted through.

Thompson handed her the twelve gauge, and the remaining
shells he had for it. “It’s topped off . . . safeties on.”

“Are we ready?” Andy asked.

“Ready,” Michelle whispered.

Thompson echoed, “Ready.”

A few seconds later Andy said, “I can’t see anything moving
through the bullet holes, so get ready, I’m gonna open the door in . . . three 
. . . two  . . .”

“Wait,” Michelle hissed. Andy stopped his countdown.

“When you open that door, if it’s a go, take two extra
seconds and use one of those shotguns to prop the door open so it doesn’t slam
shut again. Plus that will give me a lot more light shining down the hall.”

“Good idea,” Andy whispered.

Michelle heard him shuffle things around a bit, and then the
countdown started again.

“Three . . . two . . . one . . .”

The door squealed open. Michelle held her breath—focusing up
the hall—forcing herself to stay on task.

“GO . . . GO!” Andy said in a low shout.

Thompson grabbed the first pile and took off. What seemed
like forever later he was back for another run. A short time after that he was
back again, loaded up and moving out on number three. Michelle heard Andy shout,
“Walker,” followed by a single shot. Thompson came back for run four, and
Michelle could hear him wheezing and puffing. She also heard something moving
out towards the office.

“How many more trips?” she asked—not wanting to risk a look
backwards to see what was left.

“This trip and one more,” huffed Thompson.

“Make it fast soldier, we’re about to have company up here,” Michelle
said through gritted teeth.

Thompson grunted and took off. Two seconds later a red eyed
walker moved through the remains of the door. Then another followed, and then a
third. Michelle could see more behind them. Her first shot took the jaw, and
half of the face off the lead walker. Her second shot blew into the shoulder of
number two, an older man wearing a tuxedo. It didn’t stop him though. Michelle’s
third shot sent a tight pattern of 00 buckshot directly into his face, dropping
him like a rock. The walker behind him—a lady dressed in a postal uniform—lost
her footing and went down on top of the two bodies. She used that brief
interlude to slam three more shells into the shotgun. Two more walkers were
added to the pile by the time Thompson made it back for the final load, and
Michelle could hear him gasping with the effort of exertion as he hoisted the
last boxes. She was just about to start moving backwards when the sickly sweet
stench of overripe rotten bananas assaulted her. Climbing to the top of the
pile of corpses was a girl—a teenager Michelle guessed. She was grossly
overweight and dressed in a hospital gown. Spewing from her mouth and foaming
all over her face, neck, and chest was a frothy pink mass of bubbles. Her red
eyes locked onto Michelle as she crawled on all fours over the pile of corpses
in the hallway. The stench emanating from her was almost overwhelming, and Michelle
felt her stomach teetering on the brink. She forced herself to swallow it down long
enough to raise the shotgun and fire, blowing away the top half of the girl’s skull.
Thompson thumped up the hallway and yelled, “WE’RE LOADED, LET’S GO, LET’S GO.”