Remains of the Dead (20 page)

“Go! Go! Go!” Cahz roared.

Ryan vanished into the building, the child on his back screaming.

Cahz bolted after him, making the doorway only seconds before the first zombie. In the dark corridor he could see Ryan’s light shirt through the murk. Cannon was on all fours, still working to get to his feet after the crash through the door.

“Ryan! Go! Lead us out!”

Ryan looked surprised.

“I’ll help Cannon. You take point.” And with that, Cahz found Cannon’s grab handle on the neck of his body armour, wrapped his fingers around it, and pulled. “Come on, soldier. On your feet.”

“Yes sir!” Cannon snapped back out of reflex.

The light streaming through the busted door faded and spluttered. Cahz turned to see the silhouette of a zombie snatching for him.

Cahz caught the creature’s hip with a swift side kick, sending it spinning to the floor. Right behind it came another cadaver, then another, and another, each soaking up more and more of the light.

Still on the ground, Cannon flipped round to sit on his butt. A staccato burst of light and the thunder of shots followed, hammering through the pursuing zombies.

Cahz grabbed his buddy by the bicep and dragged him up.

“Move!” he yelled as he stumbled into the darkness.

Within feet the last usable light from the narrow doorway was eaten up by the musty gloom. Cahz and Cannon lurched into the darkness. A myriad of squeaks echoed from the dispossessed rodents scurrying into the shadows.

Cahz called out, “Ryan?!”

The sound of Ryan’s daughter crying could be heard somewhere up ahead.

“Through here,” came Ryan’s voice.

Cannon flicked on his torch. The slender beam of white light cut only a thin wedge from the darkness. A rat with matted brown fur scampered from the glow back to its nest of tattered linen. The light dimmed and went out.

“Piece of shit!” Cannon griped as he wound the mechanism. As he did the yellow light flickered on and grew brighter.

Cannon scanned the beam around the corridor. The once white tiled floor was awash with rat droppings and garbage. Most things had degraded to a brown pulp but there was still the odd recognisable item, much of which was out of place in the back of a store.

The beam cast over a child’s bike. Cahz stepped over to look at the plastic trike, its bright yellow and reds still visible under a coating of crud. He rested a friendly hand on Cannon’s shoulder and Cannon juddered.

“Whoa. You okay?” Cahz asked.

“Fine,” Cannon snapped, flicking the light from the bike. “We’ve got to move. Where the fuck is Ryan?”

“Up here I think.” Cahz pointed to the T-junction at the end of the corridor.

The sound of shuffling and moans from behind hastened Cahz’s steps. As he drew level with the junction it was easy to tell which way Ryan had turned by the baby’s crying. Ryan was standing rubbing the side of his head a couple of paces down the passageway.

“Which way?” Cahz asked.

“I don’t know,” Ryan confessed over the sobs coming from his backpack.

“Take a guess.”

A grizzly moan and a burst of machinegun fire from behind forced Ryan’s decision.

“This way.” He pointed down the junction.

“Cannon, on point.” Cahz said.

Cannon pushed past, his weapon still smoking. “Sure thang, boss,” he said.

Cannon slung his machine gun and pulled out his pistol. With his arms crossed at the wrist, he marched into the darkness, his torch darting back and forth trying to push back the black.

“He doesn’t sound like a soldier when he talks to you,” Ryan whispered to Cahz.

“He never has,” Cahz whispered back. “Maybe it’s because he’d been out of it before his reactivation. It’s never bothered me. He’s always sound.”

“Yeah, but what’s this ‘boss’ thing?”

“Irony, I guess.” Cahz shrugged. “All my crew use it. I think Private Bates started it. Like I say, I don’t mind it. A lot of standards have slipped, especially among conscripts. But they’re a good crew. A bit irreverent at times, but military protocol is not what it was.”

“I thought you said you both served overseas?” Ryan said.

“We did separate tours, but he’s never said where.”

“And you’ve not been curious?”

“A lot of bad shit happened,” Cahz replied in an even more hushed tone. “A lot of guys had a hard time getting back to the real world. Cannon was one of them. He’d been discharged long before the Rising. When they put him back in a uniform he wouldn’t tell them anything about his previous service. Things were shot to fuck by that point so they couldn’t check. They stuck him with private and left him with me.”

“So you don’t know what his story is then?”

“Never asked,” Cahz answered. “We all got stories.”

Ryan’s nod was lost to the gloom.

The torch light from up ahead died then burst back on.

“Cannon? Everything okay?”

“Look,” Cannon said.

He shone the light at the bottom of the door in front of them. When he switched the torch off, a faint glow of light could be seen.

“Okay,” Cahz said, placing a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “If that’s a way out it’s a way in, too. Ryan, you open the door. Cannon will be left, me right.” He double checked his carbine and side arm. “We break out fast. Dispatch Whisky Deltas only if you have to.” He waited for agreement to manifest in his companion’s eyes. “We get out and into the street as fast as we can. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay.” Cahz counted a silent three, two, one, and shouted, “Go!”

Behind his closed eyes Ali could hear a rasping—something moving close to him. Slowly he raised his eyelids. A shadow crept across the floor. Ali stiffened up and held his breath. Drawn to the movement, he looked up from the chair.

The shadow rushed forward. Ali leapt from the chair, his heart bursting from his chest. A twinge of pain sliced though his wounded leg and his balance snatched from him. He stumbled back until he thumped to a stop propped against the wall. Frantically he looked around the room, but was unable to see the zombie.

Then he registered the source of the movement. There was a sheet of weathered plastic wrapped around the balcony. It was the type of thick translucent sheeting used to temporarily waterproof building works. The ragged ends lashed out at the window, creating both the rasping sound and the dancing shadow.

“Getting jumpy,” Ali said to himself as he caught his breath. And in spite of the false alarm he peeked down the hallway to check the front door was still closed. Satisfied that he was still safe, he threw his arms back at the shoulders and puffed his chest out in a stretch. He gave an expansive yawn that lifted him up onto his tiptoes before letting out a sharp sigh.

Ali walked over to the window, limping slightly from the aggravated wound.

Judging by the light it was still early afternoon. He checked his watch, convinced he’d slept longer than he had. The big hand hadn’t even moved half way round. Slender white clouds were racing high in the sky and on the horizon out towards the ocean; darker, more menacing ones rolled in towards the mainland. He walked out onto the balcony and in an act of hope he looked around.

Across the road the blaze had engulfed the far building and the zombies crushed against its walls had burnt to a crisp. The mass of undead funnelling in to get at Ali were shoving some of the weaker zombies into the burning flames.

Any fleeting thought that there was a benefit in the reduction in numbers was erased when Ali saw the space directly below the apartment. From his vantage point he couldn’t see the tarmac, so tightly packed were the zombies.

He lent on the railing and peered across to the building he’d seen Ryan in. It wasn’t yet alight, but Ali guessed it wouldn’t be long before the fire took. His eyes caught the window he’d spotted his friend at. It was still open but there was no movement and he spotted nothing in any of the numerous windows.

Ali unsnagged the sheet of polythene and balled it up before dropping it onto the crowd below.

“I hope you’re all right, my friend,” he whispered to the wind before walking back to the dining area.

Pulling a fresh bottle of water from the plastic wrapped case, he unscrewed the cap off and took a refreshing gulp. Then a sharp crack caught the air and Ali’s grip on the bottle broke. The flinch sent the plastic container skating across the kitchen counter. Another shot rang out, distant and muffled.

Ignoring the precious water glugging its way to freedom, Ali rushed to the window. He slammed the handle down and burst onto the balcony.

The cold moist air caught his hair, obscuring his view for a moment. Sweeping it to one side, Ali clasped his big hands round the balcony and leaned out. He scanned the street below, desperate to spot Ryan and the soldiers. More and more gunfire could be heard and it was obvious to Ali that these were no well-aimed shots. The bursts were frantic and erratic, the noise of combat, not the steady aimed shots he’d heard this morning.

He scanned the windows in the office block across the street, but there was no sign of anyone.

Must be round back
, he thought.

Within a few minutes the sound of gunfire was gone.

Ali wrung the balcony railing tight in his grasp. He shook his head and sucked air through his teeth. All the time he listened to the wind and the moans, trying to pick out the slightest noise—a scream, a gunshot, anything to tell him they were still alive.

“Come on, Ryan,” he whispered, knowing his friend would never hear his encouragement. “Come on.”

Off in the far distance a shot barked out.

“Yeah!”

Ali punched wildly into the air.

The crowd below also responded with excitement, lifting their moans up a gear at the stimulation.

“I knew you’d make it,” Ali told the damp air. “You mind telling them you’re old friend Ali is here?”

He stepped back into the flat, closing the glass doors behind him. He rubbed his wind-chilled hands together and surveyed the sanctuary before him. Strewn around the room were the contents of the scavenged rucksack. There was more than enough in the kit to keep him comfortable for a number of days.

He righted the dropped bottle of water. Two thirds had spilt across the counter. The small lagoon had surged its way to the edge and was now running off the work surface in a series of thin rivulets. Ali opened the kitchen drawers and found a clean dishtowel, and with a long sweep he brushed the water into the empty sink.

Again he berated himself for his latent domesticity.

“Right. Let’s get to work,” he announced as he dried his hands.

The long stems of the wild grasses whipped against Cahz’s shins as he ran down the street. Everywhere there was a crack or pothole, lanky green shoots had sprung up, wrapping round the rusted streetlights and corroding cars. He stumbled for a moment, footing lost to the wobble of a broken services hatch. The slab had cracked down a fault line fractured open by winters of ice.

“I need…” Ryan panted out from behind, “…to rest.”

Cahz spat out a distasteful wad of mucus like an old time prospector chewing tobacco. “We’re not far from the railway line, Ryan.” He turned and grabbed the man by the bicep, pulling him on. “You can rest when we’re safe.”

Ryan stumbled forward. “Nowhere is safe.”

“All right, somewhere they’re not coming at us from every angle,” Cahz barked out. “Now move!”

“I’m gonna hurl.”

Cahz grabbed the young man by the shoulders and spun him round.

“Look at them.” He pointed down the road.

Bent double trying to catch his breath, Ryan lifted his head to look. Clambering past the rusted cars and derelict buildings, an army of walking dead shuffled after them, a thousand pairs of dead eyes transfixed by the fleeing living. The cries of distress from Ryan’s daughter did nothing to drown out the clamour. Like the howl of icy wind the monotonous sound hung steady in the air, a dull drone perpetually calling, the cries from their dead mouths and the scuffing of their dead feet. It all echoed off the walls and clutched at Ryan’s pounding heart.

“Listen to them,” Cahz repeated demandingly. “Listen to that. That’s the sound of a million lost souls and they’re coming for us. Now I stayed behind to save lives, not waste them.” He grabbed Ryan under his left shoulder and violently pulled him upright. “Get your ass in gear.”

“I can’t,” Ryan pleaded in gasps.

Cahz held his gaze. “Don’t let Elspeth down.” He let go of his grip and watched the young man’s face for a sign that his goad had worked.

Finally Ryan took a deep breath and nodded.

As they turned to move a shot rang out.

“Cannon?” Cahz called.

Cannon appeared from a corner ahead.

“Embankment’s this way,” he bellowed. “We’ve found the railway.”

Cahz and Ryan jogged past the freshly dispatched cadaver and up to the fence cordoning off the railroad track.

“How do we get in?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t see a gap in the wire,” Cahz said, looking up and down the track.

“Do we follow it up and look for a way in?” Cannon asked.

“Cut it,” Cahz decided.

“But they’ll just follow us in,” Ryan argued.

Cannon was already sawing at the wire with his knife.

“Yeah, but if we get in and run up away from the opening they’ll make a beeline for us. They’ll miss the gap,” Cahz said as he anxiously surveyed the road they’d come down.

“I’m only cutting a crawl space,” Cannon said over his shoulder. “Enough for us to squeeze through. But those dumb fucks ain’t smart enough to think of bending down.”

The first zombie came round the corner on stiff, jerking legs. It shuffled like the lobotomised inmate of some insane asylum. Cahz fired and a dime-sized hole appeared in its forehead. Its head snapped back and its infected brains exploded out the rear of its cranium. The force of the impact threw the limp cadaver hurtling back. It landed hard in a mound of masonry with a crunch.

From behind him Cahz heard scrambling.