The Dead Walk The Earth II (34 page)

The rifles of the militia began to fire again. There was more movement in the passage behind them as wandering corpses lost in the tube tunnels began to converge on the sound of gunfire and the screams of the living.

Stan ran back over to Bull’s side and joined him in firing into the mass of bodies that were advancing on them from the corridor beyond the bunker doors. There must have been hundreds of them, climbing up from the lower floors and crawling over one another as they fought to reach the living above them.

The militia were beginning to fall back, fumbling with their rifles as they attempted to change out their magazines. As the fire faded from behind, faint shadows of disfigured bodies grew along the walls of the tunnel in the flickering light, accompanied by the long moans and gurgling howls of the advancing dead.

“Move right,” Stan screamed over his shoulder to the others as corpses began spilling out from their old headquarters. “Get into the tunnel on the right. We’re bugging out.”

Some of the militia, facing in the opposite direction from Stan, retreated into the wrong access channel. By the time that they realised their mistake, it was too late and their route back had already been cut off by a number of corpses that began charging into the tunnel after them. More screams echoed around the chamber as Stan and his men began to retreat.

One of the regular troops had been knocked over by the fleeing men and women and as he climbed back to his feet, he was set upon by a horde of the infected that spotted him in the dancing light that continued to flit around over the chamber. The blaring crackle of gunfire continued as both groups fled in different directions. The agony filled howls of men and women as they were slaughtered at the hands of the infected echoed along the tunnels for great distances, attracting the attention of the thousands of dead that were wandering through the subways.

Bull raced along the passageway with Marty slung over his shoulder while Taff helped Danny to hobble along through the long winding corridor. Behind them, Bobby, Stan, and the veteran covered the retreat, taking it in turns in throwing up a wall of zipping tracers into the avalanche of walking dead that were following close on their heels. Reaching a set of stairs and instantly recognising where he was in the narrow beam of light he held in his hand, Bull began climbing the steps. As he reached the second flight, the stairway below them was rocked by a bone crunching detonation. The ground shook and the grenade’s shrapnel
thwacked
and pinged against the walls as it flew out in all directions.

“Up, up,” Stan was shouting from below. “Keep going. Faster.”

By now, Bull should have been exhausted. He was carrying the entire weight of Marty, including both their equipment and climbing dozens of flights of stairs but he felt nothing in the way of fatigue or physical pain. His closest friend was hurt badly, slumped over his shoulder and bleeding severely from multiple wounds. At that moment, Bull could think of nothing but getting Marty to safety.

“You’re okay, Marty,” he said over and over again. “I’ve got you, mate. You’re going to be okay. Just hold on, Marty, for fuck sake.”

At the top of the stairs they burst out into the storeroom of a small independent book shop. The team had used that particular entrance into the bunker complex on many occasions. Bobby pushed ahead of them and took the lead through the main part of the store, striding over piles of scattered books and magazines and slamming the butt of his rifle into the side of the head of a single corpse that stood staring back at them, bewildered at their sudden appearance. The dead woman’s skull caved inwards as her body was sent flying across the floor and slamming into the wall.

Out in the street, Bobby began firing his rifle at the corpses that turned and lurched towards them. Bull crashed through the door and into the open, not bothering to stop and paying no attention to the misshapen figures that moved towards him. He turned and raced off to the left. Behind him, Taff and Danny emerged, closely followed by the two militia soldiers who had been tasked with helping their wounded comrade.

“Here,” Taff growled as he passed Danny across to them, “take him and run. Follow Bull and stay with him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

Raising his rifle, Taff began to help Bobby clear a path as the wounded were evacuated from the area. Windows shattered from stray rounds and bodies dropped all around them but more appeared from around the various corners and from within the numerous doorways.

“Take a right,” Stan howled as he crashed into the street and followed after Bull and the others. The two militia were just ahead of him and complied with his orders as they reached the junction at the head of the street.

“Right, go right,” Peter called after Bull, passing the message on and watching as the big man made a change in his direction without a single glance backwards and disappeared around the corner.

Bobby and Taff dropped back to protect the rear and followed in Stan’s wake. The veteran was still with them but he was limping badly, having caught some of the shrapnel in his leg from the grenade he had tossed into the tunnel in an attempt to stem the tide of infected snapping jaws that were chasing after them. His teeth were gritted and his face was creased with pain but he was determined to keep up, wielding his rifle in one hand while the other was pressed firmly against his bleeding thigh.

Bobby came alongside him and placed his arm under his shoulder for support and helping him to keep moving. Taff remained close and continued to cover them, firing in all directions as the infected sprang from every door, window, and alleyway. They reached the corner and saw Stan and the two militia soldiers with Danny just ahead of them. Below their feet, a trail of bright red blood spattered the pavement and far in front they glimpsed the back of Bull and the bouncing figure of Marty hanging from his shoulder. Nothing was standing in the way of the man and the few bodies that managed to get close enough were knocked to the side by his powerful blows.

“Stay with me, Marty,” Bull gasped as he slammed his fist into the face of another corpse. The body of the dead man was lifted high off its feet from the impact and hurled almost to the other side of the road. “I’ve got you, Marty. Everything’s going to be okay.”

A hundred metres further on and Bull came to an abrupt halt. Marty, severely weakened and barely able to form his words, had demanded that his friend put him down and after a brief argument, Bull reluctantly complied. As the rest of the men caught up, Bull began checking Marty’s wounds, trying valiantly to stem the flow of blood as the others formed a protective ring around them and began picking off the few corpses that were appearing in the immediate area.

“Leave it,” Marty groaned while shaking his head.

Bull ignored him and continued to apply direct pressure while Bobby ripped open a field dressing. Marty’s wrist needed immediate attention and he had already lost an incredible amount of blood through the torn artery. He also had a large bite wound in the soft tissue between his shoulder and neck and his clothing was stained dark with glistening wet blood. His face was pale and coated in a fine layer of sweat and his lips were tinged pale blue through loss of blood. He was fading fast and as Bobby pressed the dressing down onto Marty’s bleeding forearm, Bull reached for his tourniquet in a last ditch attempt to stop the loss of Marty’s precious life fluid.

“For fuck sake, Bull, leave it,” Marty growled again weakly.

The huge man paused and looked back at Marty’s sunken eyes and withered cheeks. Bull’s own eyes were glazed with a film of tears and his vision blurred as he gazed down at his dying friend.

“There’s nothing you can do, mate.”

“We can stop the bleeding,” Bull reasoned in a breaking voice and began gripping the wound in his friend’s arm even tighter. “You’ll be okay, Marty. We’ll get you sorted soon. We’re nearly at the river.”

Marty shook his head. He was barely able to open his eyes and already he had lost the vision in his peripherals. His legs were numb and he could feel a great coldness creeping its way up along his body.

“You know you can’t,” he said with a faltering voice and a slight smile. “You know you can’t help me, you dick head.”

Bull was oblivious to the cracks of rifle fire around him and the anxious shouts of the defenders as they called out targets to one another and recommended that they should move. He could feel an invisible hand beginning to squeeze at his throat. It was strong enough almost to stop him from breathing and an immense pressure seemed to be welling up from inside his chest and pushing against his sternum.

“It’s okay, mate,” Marty croaked as a large pool of dark red blood began spreading across the paving stones beneath him. “It’s alright.”

Bull released his grasp on Marty’s arm and gently placed his hand around the side of his friends head, cupping the crook of his neck. He pulled him close and buried his face into Marty’s matted hair. The tears were beginning to flood and his body jerked slightly as he fought to hold back the sobs. He kissed Marty’s head and lay him back down. With his other hand he reached for the pistol on his hip, nodding slightly to himself as he painfully accepted that he was about to lose his best friend.

Marty stared back up at him and gave a slight shake of his head.

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Save your rounds, mate. You’ll need them.”

Bull watched as his friend weakly lifted his arm and moved his hand towards his own mouth and parted his lips. He knew what Marty was about to do and he shook his head and raised his own hand to interfere. Marty feebly knocked his hand away, staring back into his eyes with the last of his determination.

“It’s okay, Bull. It’s okay.”

Bull nodded and looked on as Marty removed the cap from one of his rear molars. With a final withering smile, Marty bit down hard. His body twitched suddenly and arched backwards for a moment, as though a jolt of electricity had passed through him. His head shot back and his right eye bulged out from its socket then instantly turned black from the massive haemorrhaging of his brain. The side of his face turned a deep purple as the capillaries and veins around the area of the tiny explosive burst and within seconds, blood began to seep out from his nose and ears.

Bull paused for a moment, staring down at Marty’s lifeless face and stroking his hand across his pallid left cheek. He nodded with heart-breaking acceptance as he leaned forward and tucked his arms beneath Marty’s knees and around his shoulders.

He paused for a moment and took in a deep breath.

“He’s coming with us,” he growled as he raised himself to his feet, holding Marty’s limp body in his arms and turning to walk away without paying any attention to the men and infected around him. “We’re not leaving him here, so he’s coming with us.”

Stan and Bobby stepped back, leaving the firing to the others as they watched Bull carrying the sagging dead body of yet another of their team. Stan showed no outward emotion but it was plain to see on Bobby’s face. His features were awash with a collage of rage, sorrow, and confusion. It had all happened so fast at the bunker and he felt guilty that he had not been able to help Marty. His hatred for the infected and grief at not being able to save his friend were surging through his body as he dropped the blood soaked field dressing to the ground and took control of his rifle.

Bull broke into a run, continuing towards the river with tears streaming down his face. The others followed as the crowd at the end of the street swelled from the hundreds of infected that tumbled out from the buildings all around them. The streets to the left and right were swarming with them and the team were in danger of being cut off.

By now, they could see the gates leading into one of the dockyards. They had no idea whether or not there would be anything of use to them at the water’s edge but it was a risk they had to take. They had nowhere else to go. Their only other alternative was to barricade themselves into one of the many buildings but it would only be a matter of time before the dead managed to break in.

In the distance, the heavy thuds of explosions continued to rock the city as the remains of Stan’s men, along with the veteran and two militia soldiers, Peter and Michael, raced for the opening in the fence line that led into the dockside. They slammed the gate as they passed through and Bobby and the veteran did what they could to secure it. The bolt locks they slid into place would not hold for long and already the iron rails rattled loudly as hundreds of corpses threw themselves against the flimsy barrier. Bobby and the veteran withdrew, taking nervous glances over their shoulders as the gate began to bow and buckle beneath the mass of bodies pressing against it.

Stan turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks, raising his MP-5 simultaneously and firing a volley of shots into a cluster of mangled figures that turned to face them. Two of them dropped, their skulls shattering beneath the hail of Stan’s rounds.

“Fuck you,” Bull hollered with rage and took off at a sprint, barging his way through the corpses that stood in his path. “Fuck you.”

Many of them were felled by the big man and trampled beneath his feet as he lumbered forward towards the river, determined to carry the body of his friend to safety and away from the dead city. The rest of the men followed, firing wildly then swinging their rifles like batons when their magazines run dry.

Bobby pulled his pistol and shot a round through the face of a woman as she pounced towards him. Her head snapped backwards but her body continued forward and slammed into him, knocking him to the side and forcing him to vault over a barrel lying on its side that he was about to crash into. Behind him, a scream rang out as one of the militia was tackled to the ground. The man was too far away for him to help and there were too many infected between him and the civilian soldier. He fired a couple of badly aimed shots in the general direction of the militiaman and continued after Stan and the others.