Undead Fleshcrave: The Zombie Trigger (48 page)

These tunnels below the Park were choked with terrified souls looking to flee to other parts of the city and hopeful sanctuary.

Tempest, the first down into the unknown quality of the passageways spanning along underneath Blackwater Park, managed to refrain immediately from venting his frustration at discovering this serious impediment to them swiftly catching up to the Undead Fleshcrave contingent, since any furious yell of displeasure would have alarmed and panicked those waiting outside, the lot of them already bundles of frayed nerves and knots of terror.

What was more, in terms of avoiding the undead population swarming all over the park and extending out into the city now, these tunnels were everyone’s best bet of achieving that. It wasn’t just the mission of tracking down the death metal zombie makers that was paramount, they all needed to steer clear of the roaming rampant humanivores as well, and this was really the only option to give them a fighting chance of doing so.

Regardless of how many other terrified residents of the city were cramming themselves down into the tunnels in a bid to follow them to areas of the metropolis not yet infected with zombie hordes, Tempest and the rest had to be down here too.

However, once they were all safely at the bottom of the ladders, the number in the group required them to span out along the length of the tunnel, since in reality it was quite narrow, possibly only able to fit a maximum of three people across at any given time, Tempest let his pent up frustration be well known with a savage snarl of profanity littered statements as they witnessed the amount of folk who’d also taken to the tunnels to escape.

Evidently there were quite a few entrances to this underground construction, for there were innumerable ladders stretching as far as the eye could see, at least where the illumination from the erratic overhead lights shone and allowed visibility. Some of these still had people scampering down them to join the crush.

“What the hell are we going to do now?” Dax voiced the damn obvious, gesturing at lines of people, some not even moving, just sort of huddled where they’d landed on the stone floor as if catatonic with the shock from what was happening above.

Plenty of them were moving, attempting to make haste, but it was slow going with only three able to make any forward progress, and once they ran into clusters where folk weren’t in motion, this space narrowed even further for those trying to get past.

“And how do we know which way they’ve gone?” Another voice piped up, Seth wasn’t even sure who said that, the voice trilled from behind him in a quavering voice that seemed to suggest whatever way the Fleshcravers had gone, they would prefer to head off in the opposite direction.

“That way,” Nate pointed to the left. “That’s the way back into the city, or at least the quickest way. Going back the other way is just going to lead back into the park, eventually the wooded area. It will be a while before hitting any exits that spew us out into residential areas.”

“Maybe that’s exactly the way they would go then,” Seth mused. “The opposite direction to the crush, avoiding everybody else and all that. I guess none of the townsfolk want to go that way, lose their bearings on which exit they’re planning to take and pop up in the middle of the woods to find they’re surrounded by zombies.”

“That is likely to happen going into the city as well,” Nate pointed out. “But rest assured, if I’m on the right track with this shit, and I’d say I am, if they’ve been tipped off about these tunnels by a local, then they have somewhere in the city to hole up. And that’s where they will be going. So, this way.”

“Do we consider splitting up and covering both bases?” Roxana queried. “On the off chance they have gone that way?”

Black scowled, an expression bordering on indecision crossing his hard features. It was a fleeting one, but, nonetheless, an expression Seth hadn’t witnessed on the visage of the Subversion boss before, and it sent involuntary shivers of fear back into him. If their fearless leader was about to start double-guessing, questioning, or presenting anything but a solidified front, then things could unravel in the blink of an eye, especially with some of the flighty souls on deck in this congregation.

Then the brief spark of vacillation was gone from Black’s countenance, replaced instead by his typical stoic, impassive but menacing glare.

“I’m with Nate, actually,” he said, his voice low and even, but humming with that same undercurrent of threat which rarely seemed to exit his tone no matter what context he was speaking in. “Somebody let these fuckers know about these tunnels and how to use them, how to access them and where they would lead. I’ll bet anything they do have moles and rats right here in Blackwater, funded by Global Death, and doing absolutely everything to ensure they pull off this coup and escape to keep opening up hell on as many towns as they can. Before Hunters like us eventually catch up, or the entire country…and ultimately world…is fucked, and belongs to Global.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Tempest grated. “Let’s move. The longer we wait, the more chance they have of going to ground wherever the fuck it is they’re going and I’ve zero tolerance for that happening. They cannot slip the noose this time.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Miranda said and Tempest favoured her with a dark expression with the intensity to drill holes in the brickwork comprising the tunnel walls.

“If we’re wrong, then we’re fucked,” he said simply. “Well and truly. We don’t catch them and we won’t have any idea where they’re going to hit next. We’ll have no leads, no ideas on where they might go, and since they know we were on the money with the Blackwater Park notion, they will pull a complete 360 on where we might think they’ll head next and go elsewhere. So, long story short, if we are wrong about this, we are fucked. And so is the world.”

Seth wasn’t pleased hearing that, it didn’t lessen the chills, butterflies, and gnawing fangs of nerves all jostling for prime position throughout his body. He too, wasn’t overjoyed at the thought of them splitting up again, and with the seeds planted in his mind by Nate’s supposition that the Fleshcravers were being fed information and a place to hide out, he too was of the mindset that heading into the main part of the city was the best bet. But if they were wrong, then it meant more ceaseless travelling, more danger from not just the growing undead armies, which would only escalate to plague proportion impossible to contain from this horror unleashed here in Blackwater Park, but of course once they left this populace, also from rogue police and authorities, angry mobs and witchhunters seeking to make metalheads and those they believed responsible, pay.

It certainly meant more time with Scarlett, but not relaxed pleasant time for them to start developing and building any relationship properly; it would be harried, rushed time fraught with concern and worry, contending with threats, having to hide out and lay low, always remaining on guard.

As much as he wasn’t looking forward to finally catching up to Undead, especially if they had a fuckload more tricks up their sleeves, he needed this night, here in Blackwater Park, to be the final evening of this terrible hunt to slay the zombiemakers.

Only then, was there any remote chance for him and Scarlett to assume some semblance of constructing a normal relationship.

He hadn’t really considered what it was going to be like after this, if they did happen to successfully destroy the death metal fiends, for the fearsome five piece had already been largely successful themselves in many of their endeavours. Their brutal shows reaped horrific rewards in each town they were able to switch on the Trigger, and if that outbreak of undead threats couldn’t be contained, then Seth guessed he and Scarlett would be attempting to foster their burgeoning love amidst the wreckage of a zombie apocalypse.

Why he was considering it now, when there were probably more pressing matters, such as trying to fast-track their way through this congested tunnel to wherever the Fleshcravers absconded, he wasn’t sure, but he realised sooner or later he’d have to contemplate it. Unless subconsciously his mind was already accepting that him or her, or maybe any of them, weren’t going to be around in the land of the living long enough for any aftermath or rebuilding state to be a necessity.

“How the fuck are we ever going to catch up with them?” Mark bemoaned, lamenting the fact that Undead Fleshcrave had themselves a head start, stretching out and lengthening with each passing second. “This is going to be like standing in line at a sold out gig, inching forward step by step, waiting to get inside.”

“Like an Undead Fleshcrave gig?” Dax cracked, his morbid humour shining through, though few really saw the hilarity in it.

“Attention everybody in the tunnels!” Tempest’s voice suddenly boomed, a massive resonation of sound which reverberated all along the cloistered area, bouncing off the curving bricked walls with a velocity that startled Seth and many of the others lined in uncomfortable formation along the narrow floor. “Move aside, to the left of the tunnel. Step to the left-hand side! That’s the side with the handrails, for those who hadn’t already figured it out. If you want to remain alive for any greater period of time you need to move your asses to the side quicksmart. People to deal with this situation need to get through and get through fast!”

Clusters of people thronging against the walls, or lolling around in the middle of the tunnel, slowly trudging along as if they were somehow shackled together and forced to walk at a snail’s pace, actually reacted to this abrupt and forceful expulsion of noise. Tempest’s voice rolled all the way down the line, contained by the walls and kept in by the bricks so it appeared to echo and impact on all of them.

Seth wasn’t overly astonished to see a number of them complied with the bellowed request and instantly gravitated towards the left-hand side, where the walls were lined by the handrail. By the same token, many of them didn’t, either because they were in some sort of shock still, they weren’t prepared to move on the say-so of somebody back behind them, or they were suspicious that the yelling loudmouth was just seeking free passage to push to the front of the queue.

Black and the remaining pair of Subversion crew girls got the group into action promptly, along with assistance from the trio of bikers, aware that the time to move was now, regardless of those still lingering in the way or refusing to cooperate with Tempest’s command for their own assortment of reasons.

“Let’s roll,” Tempest suggested, and once again, appointed himself the head of the procession, and as he stepped from out of the relative dark clusters of shadow where he’d been standing under the sudden harsh yellow glow of a roof light, folks gazing with some curiosity and consternation down towards where that abrasive shouted voice rolled, saw the person behind it and that gave a few more dissidents in the way a prompt incentive to move.

Tempest’s long black hair swung in his malevolent face as he strode with sinister purpose, that face splattered extensively with blood and gore, his eyes dark and piercing. He hoisted his bloodstained Moons high, one in each hand, both of them still trailing rivulets of Sentinel blood as he raised them into the air.

If that wasn’t enough inducement for folk to step to the side as had been requested and make way for these alleged people who were here to ‘deal with the situation’, the next person to emerge from the dark patch was Nate, and he was something of an added encouragement to clear some space, the giant bearded biker brandishing his pistol.

Behind him came Dax, impatient to be on the move as well and eager to follow once it was swiftly established by Tempest’s resonating bellow that they were moving. He too must have cut an imposing figure, for he intentionally hoisted his gun in the air, most likely to make it very clear to those still lingering in their way that the approaching group was armed. He may have looked as equally disconcerting as those who preceded him, but Seth knew he was deliberately making a show of it with his gun, waving around to demonstrate he meant business.

While he himself stood in a quandary, debating over where he would prefer to be in the procession through the narrow confines of the tunnel, mentally weighing up the various options of what could happen regardless of where he was placed, with the option to be right up the back probably worse than being near the front, Scarlett suddenly made the decision for him, placing herself next in line to step into the harsh sickly yellow glow of the roof lamp.

She must have been reading his mind, or she was on the same page as he was in terms of them being separated again, and she snatched at one of his arms as she went past, prompting him to move his feet as well.

That meant he would be up near the front of the assemblage, behind only three others, but this time if the groups somehow happened to get split up, hopefully he would still be with Scarlett. He didn’t like the idea of running into the blazing murderous guns of Sentinels any time soon, but with the prevalence of scattered Sentinel corpses up on the ground above, it was probably a fair bet that whatever blazing guns they had to contend with wouldn’t be quite as many as those which had cut their congregation numbers down so dramatically.

He figured his appearance on the heels of the already frightening pair of Tempest and Nate, and then Dax, in conjunction with Scarlett, probably heightened any sense of nervousness and apprehension those folk up ahead in the tunnel might have been feeling.

For one, just like the rest of them, his face and any visible skin was splattered with blood and matter from the close hand to hand combat with the undead attackers and his long dark hair hung in lank locks around his face. And secondly, he wielded the awe-inspiring, and probably to some, terrifying vision that was Mother North, her beautifully, brutal blades still dripping blood like the Moons of Tempest.