Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down (17 page)

The stairwell allowed in no natural light whatsoever. All they could see was what the torch on John’s shotgun showed them, as well as the odd few centimetres of floor or wall where glimmers of light reflected in from the various adjoining hallways, though even this dwindled and all but disappeared once the sun finally set. Going in at night was stupid, and both men knew this, but to John, waiting till morning meant just another obstacle in the way of finding his family, and to Donald, it gave the friends of the man John had shot earlier longer to plot their revenge, should they choose to exact it.

As they arrived at the base of the stairs, John looked upwards slowly, his Remington raised so as to illuminate the floors above them one by one. Soon his eyes noted the presence of a large mass after the fourth floor door, most likely yet another barricade setup to block off a portion of the Hospital. John clicked his fingers, attracting Donald’s attention, which was then diverted with a point of John’s hand towards the barricade.
“Can only get up four floors, you still wanna’ go?”, John asked.
Donald nodded, this time keen to keep as silent as possible, feeling much more uncomfortable being able to see so little of his surroundings.

As the two began to slowly ascend the stairs, each being careful to step as softly and quietly as possible, the size of the building they were attempting to ransack dawned on them. It was at least nine stories, which at this rate could be anywhere between twenty or so minutes – if the path to the upper floors was completely blocked – or several hours. Donald was certain though that they would find something of use, and so step by step, they made their way up to the first floor door, its small square window the only way of seeing what lay behind it, and a smoky layer of dust obscuring even that already limited view.

John tried desperately to see what might lay on the other side of the door, but there was no use, he had to enter, and so he placed his hand on the door handle, and gently pushed it downwards. Following the unmistakable click of the lever rolling back into its housing, he began pulling the door towards him, so slowly that a gust of wind would have done the job quicker, but in turn slow enough to make for an absolutely silent manoeuvre.

The growing darkness had meant that their tactics had to change. Donald’s lack of a flashlight meant that having him follow close behind was simply too dangerous, and so it became up to John to move first, checking to ensure that everything was clear before allowing his companion to follow. John had assumed that Donald would take issue with this, and that he would demand to switch so that he could lead instead, but he had remained surprisingly silent, perhaps happy to avoid the many risks that he could now throw John to the wolves for instead. Keen to avoid said risks, John moved slowly forwards through the doorway, peaking to his left and right as he did, trying not to move more than an inch without looking both ways, like a child crossing a road for the first time.

To John’s relief, the hallway was clear, and was in fact partially illuminated by the green of several emergency exit signs – perhaps running from long-life batteries, or illuminated by some kind of chemical reaction – which meant they could resume their two-pronged formation. Realising this at the same time, Donald quickly caught up, moving into position behind John and covering them from the rear, as they slowly crept around the second floor hallway.

*
      
*
      
*

The pair continued like this for some time, occasionally dropping into whatever rooms remained accessible and un-barricaded, each time finding themselves more and more disappointed at the sight of empty room after empty room. Every room’s contents appeared to have been either removed long before the infection had fully hit, or ransacked time and time again ever since. Undeterred though, they continued on, and slowly but surely made their way through the first four floors, eventually arriving once more at the stairwell, this time stopped by the makeshift barricade they had seen earlier. In reality, it was nothing more than a crude combination of chairs, tables, and what appeared to be rubble, all thrown in to cut off access to the upper floors. Sadly for both men however, it was a mass that was essentially immovable, should they wish to continue keeping noise to a minimum.

“You think it’s keeping us out, or something else in?”, Donald whispered as John surveyed the barricade with his torch.
“Isn’t gonna’ matter much if we can’t get up there anyway”, he replied quietly, as he pointed his shotgun around the pile, attempting to find a way past it, his brain furiously working away before eventually deciding on a path.
“What are you doing?”, Donald asked as John swung one leg over the handrail, the other quickly following.
John ignored him, instead answering by beginning to slowly shimmy his way up the stairs, completely exposed to the fall below, but comfortably passing the barricade in a matter of seconds.
“Genius!”, Donald whispered excitedly as he began following suit.
“The question stands though”, John began as Donald shimmied along, “We know this wasn’t made to keep humans in or out, or they would have stopped us being able to go around it like that, but that don’t mean there aint’ nothing upstairs being kept in”, he continued, quickly moving his torch, from the handrail which Donald had now climbed back across, to the stairs in front.

With the barricade out of the way, the pair now had unobstructed access to the remaining five floors, and so set about entering the first available doorway, now giving even more patience to the entrance procedure, so as not to disturb whatever may be inside. As they did though, they were greeted by yet another empty hallway, again somewhat illuminated by the lit fire exit signs, and once again devoid of anything of any real interest. On this floor however, at least the doors were not
all
barred shut.

Arriving at the first of such entrances, John shone his torch through the small window, barely penetrating the thick layer of dirt and dust that had accumulated across it, as he attempted to get a preview of what the room might contain. What greeted him though was nothing more than the shaded outlines of a few desks, some cupboards, and a variety of items scattered across the floor. John couldn’t help but feel excitement for at least finding a room not completely emptied by those that had entered before them, but the poor visibility ensured he entered with just as much caution as ever, slowly easing the door handle downwards before applying the bare minimum amount of pressure needed to push it open.

As the door released its grip, the two were hit instantly with a change in air. It was the sort of change that indicated it had been some time since this door was last opened, and one that carried with it the most foul of smells, a smell John was unfortunate enough to know better than most.
“Oh Jesus! What is that?”, Donald whispered as he covered his mouth.
John looked back at his companion, “Death”, he replied, before resuming his primary duty of leading the entrance into the room.
Slowly he moved through the open doorway, his torch now able to illuminate the corners of the room much more clearly, exposing the contents of what was apparently once a library of sorts. Large bookcases lined the left hand side, with what John guessed were many thousands of books all stacked neatly across multiple shelves, and to the right, various lines of desks spread from the door to the windows, each coated by the same dust and dirt that seemed to cover the entirety of the hospital.

As John continued to survey the room though, he suddenly caught sight of something very unexpected.
“Jesus!”, he exclaimed as his finger gripped the trigger of the shotgun.
What he had found was the body of a man, slumped in the desk to their right just a few feet away, only now coming into view thanks to the Remington’s ever useful torch.
Both men froze, Donald raising his M4 ready to fire if required. But the body simply sat there, its head hanging lazily forwards, the torso not moving an inch.

Slowly John made his way over to the chair it resided in, the click of the door signalling that Donald had closed it over behind them, and soon after, the truth became much clearer, thanks to a large bullet wound underneath the man’s chin, and the thirty-eight calibre revolver still tightly gripped in his right hand.

“Stupid asshole took the easy way out”, said Donald, “Could of at least used that bullet on a biter”, he remarked, moving over to the window.
John knelt down next to the body, pulling the revolver free of the tight, dead, rigor-mortis infused grip of the man’s hand. It had 5 bullets remaining – which John promptly removed and shoved into his pocket – so Donald wasn’t wrong, he had opted to take himself out before even trying to escape. The more worrying thought however was why he had chosen to do such a thing, and suddenly images of what might be found on this floor and those above them flooded John’s mind, quickly and thankfully interrupted by Donald’s voice.

“Parker, help me with this”, he said as he tried in vain to prise open the window, its wooden edgings sheared and splintered, causing it to stick in its closed position, “Need to get some air in this place”.
John obliged, quickly making his way over to the window and placing both hands onto the opposite side as Donald. The pair pulled upwards repeatedly, prising the window bit by bit till suddenly it slid upwards with an almighty force, the glass cracking – but thankfully not shattering – in its frame, now above their heads.
“Now
that
is better!”, said Donald as the outside air rushed in, the slight scent of ash not enough to tarnish this moment of clarity for the pair.

What did tarnish it however was what happened next, as Donald looked down the street to where the Toyota was parked, only to catch sight of a growing amount of unnatural light, just a few metres away from the truck. Donald knew what it was long before the source of the light slowly crept around the corner and onto the very street that both the Hospital’s side entrance and their truck resided, and as the metallic front of the vehicle edged into his field of view, he reacted as quickly as possible.
“Down!”, he ordered as both men ducked out of sight, Donald’s eyes barely visibly over the windows ledge.
Slowly the vehicle approached, its occupants appearing to lean out of the windows as the vehicle drove, pausing for a moment alongside the Toyota.
“That’s the sedan from earlier!”, John whispered, himself having raised his head high enough to see out of the window once more, “I’m sure it is!”, he reaffirmed.
But despite appearances, the men were not in fact looking into the truck, and were instead looking over to the Hospital, perhaps evaluating its potential to ransack.

“If they move for this place, we’ve gotta’ get out of here”, John said as the pair looked on.
“You kidding me Parker? If it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they g-“
Before Donald could finish his sentence, the sound of a gunshot roared through the dead, still night. Its epic volume made short work of anything else that dared to make even the slightest of noises, and was closely followed by a small shard of metal, propelled at over a thousand miles per hour, hurtling through the night sky, directly through the open window that the pair crouched below. Just above their heads, the bullet embedded itself into the ceiling, small fragments of paint and plaster raining down on them as it did.
“How the hell they see us!?”, Donald demanded, ducking down below the window once more, just as two more shots hit the other side of the wall in front.
“Hell if I know”, John replied, “But we gotta’ get out of here!”.
“And leave the truck?”, Donald replied, “No chance!”, he said, switching his weapon to semi-automatic, “We stand our ground…we fight!”.

John watched on as his companion stood up tall, lodged the butt of the gun firmly into his armpit, lowered his cheek onto the top of the rifle, closed his left eye, and began reeling off shot after shot right back at the attacking sedan. He took barely a second between each shot to adjust for whatever movement he could see, before eventually crouching back down behind the safety of the wall, after firing off some twelve rounds.

John didn’t want to fight, quite the opposite in fact, but unfortunately for him, he was still bound by his own needs to stick with Donald, and so he quickly looked around the room to decide his next move, as the pitter-patter of bullets on brickwork sounded out all around. Along from where they currently sat hunkered down was another window, again obscured by dirt and dust, more than enough so to block out shapes from both sides. John moved quickly to the glass, stopping next to it to drop down his backpack, as well as his Remington shotgun, and take out his M14, which he promptly readied himself to use.

Looking through the scope, John made every effort to guess the rough location of the truck, but he did not fire, instead simply standing in wait, an easy target to anybody that somehow knew he was there, and not a chance in hell of hitting anybody, especially now that the men appeared to have halted their fire.
“What are you doing!?”, Donald called over.
“Fire on them”, John replied.
“It’s a waste of ammo!”, Donald argued.
“Fire on them”, John repeated sternly.
Begrudgingly obeying, Donald raised himself up once more, firing a series of shots at the sedan – this time only releasing four casings into the night – before quickly ducking back down again.

Almost immediately, the men began firing back, John now able to make out the muzzle flashes of three distinct shooters through the blackened window, the biggest of which appeared to be at the back. John knew that a bigger flash most likely meant the shooter was the least covered, and so taking aim at what was nothing more than a dimming source of light, John fired three times at the rear flashes source, the first piercing the window in front of John, and the two that followed annihilating it completely, but each sailing well past it and on towards their intended target nonetheless.

The first bullet was a near miss, scraping the rear of the sedan and deflecting narrowly away from the shooter, but the second found its mark, slicing through the gunman’s shoulder, who at this point still had no idea where the fire was coming from. As he recoiled from the impact though, his eyes spotted the third flash – this time from the newly shattered window that sat along from the previous target – just as the third bullet carved its way through the roof of the sedan, penetrating its metal shell and continuing its journey clean through the rear window of the car, before eventually meeting its intended target. This time the bullet landed in the man’s left leg, throwing the shooter onto the ground in agony, now unable to support his own weight and still reeling from the pain in his shoulder.