Authors: TS Alan
As the undead tried to descend the ladder, they fell, one after another, landing on the platform on top of each other. It appeared that the undead couldn’t descend steep steps. This bought us time, a minute. We were three quarters of the way down, but the door we had come through was closed, which meant it was locked. Had we condemned ourselves to the proverbial corner to await the slaughter?
“David,” I yelled. “Tell me Jack wasn’t the one with the key to that door.”
A resounding “No” came from him. “I have it.”
David fumbled the set of keys from his pocket, and spent a moment finding the master for the lock.
The undead were descending the last set of steps. I turned around to fire.
“Anytime, David!”
I shot, missed. Again, chest shot. The door opened. Gut shot, gut shot. Luck was no longer on my side. Throat shot. They were near the bottom. Finally, head shot. It fell. A few others tripped over him and they fell. Everyone was through the door except Max and me.
I ordered Max through and backed into the archway as they were upon me. One grabbed my right arm, which held the gun. It sunk its teeth into me. I struggled not to release the pistol from my grip. I pulled my body across the threshold, pulling the undead thing with me. A shot rang out; its grip released and it flew back into his allies. David and I slammed the door closed, snapping off a few of its fingers.
I looked at Marisol; my ears were ringing. She had her pistol in hand. “I figured it out,” she said, and smiled. She didn’t know I had been bitten.
I had abraded my hand as I pulled myself free, but that was the least of my problems. Blood trickled down my arm. David saw and asked if I was all right. But the answer was no. A bite from a cat, a dog, or even a human, could cause a severe bacterial infection if not treated promptly. In extreme cases it could cause death. This was one of those extreme cases.
“Can we get to a safe place?” I asked him. “I should wrap this. And we should stay away from the door. They can probably smell blood.”
“Yeah,” David said.
“Up the tunnel—”
“Blood!” Julie interrupted. “Whose blood?”
“—a ways.” I finished, without acknowledging Julie’s question.
Julie saw my arm and screamed.
“Jesus Christ Superstar!” I yelled. “Shut the fuck up.”
She wouldn’t.
David grabbed her and covered her mouth. She kicked and swatted at David as he dragged her up the tunnel.
I turned to her once we were safely up the tunnel. “You gonna shut your trap, missy, or does David need to strangle you?”
She nodded her head up and down.
“Is that yes, David should strangle you?”
She mumbled, “No.”
“Christ,” I said. “Just shut up. You act as if you’re the one that got bit.”
David released Julie. Marisol had not yet seen the blood.
“What’s going on?” Marisol asked, sounding slightly panicked.
“He’s bit. That thing bit him and he’s gonna be one of them!” Julie informed her, a sense of fear in her voice.
“What!?”
Marisol exclaimed.
“Look at his arm,” she told Marisol.
I walked over to Julie.
“Don’t get near me,” she warned, as she backed against the wall and cowered.
I walked to her with an evil look upon my face, looked her dead in the eyes, and yelled, “Boo!”
She slunk to the floor and cried.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Marisol scolded.
“For fuck sake,” I replied, exasperated. “I’m the one who got bit. I should be the one who freaks out.”
Marisol was disturbed. She tried to examine my arm.
“No!” I firmly responded to her act of kindness, though I wasn’t trying to be cruel. “You can’t touch it. I’m infected. Remember what I told you? If you want to help, help me take my pack off. I need to clean and wrap it.”
“I guess you’re pretty fucked,” David said. “How long do you think you have?”
“My medical opinion, eight to twelve hours before symptoms manifest. Depending on the virulency I may have another six… maybe twelve hours after that.”
I poured some Bacitracin over the wound, which I had retrieved from my pack.
“Sucks for you, man.”
I spoke to Marisol. “Take out the red pouch. You should find some latex gloves in it. Please put them on.” I turned to David. “23
rd
Street exit like this one?”
“Yes.”
“I have a small radio. We need to know what’s going on up there. I want to climb up to the next exit and see if I can get any news.”
I turned back to Marisol and handed her the open multi-tool that I had removed from my belt. “Would you cut some long strips of tape for me?”
Marisol was silent as she helped me.
A plague or pandemic wouldn’t happen in several hours. I wouldn’t
turn
into a flesh-eating reanimated corpse immediately after being bitten, like in the movies I loved watching. Even the most virulent pathogenic strain takes at least eight to twelve hours to complete its incubation period. I figured I was fine for a while, but the outside world must have been infected overnight.
VII. Fear in the City of the Living Dead
I sat on the platform at the 23
rd
and Avenue C exit just below the steep set of steps. I thought about what had happened to Jack and it angered me. I felt anger, not because he was dead, for his stupidity and arrogance had caused his demise, but anger toward myself, for I was partly to blame. My hostility had brought upon his contempt of me, which in turn brought upon his lack of judgment in opening the hatch. The longer I dwelled upon it, the angrier I became with myself. As a paramedic, no matter how many precautions I’d take, there was always a possibility of contracting a deadly disease from a patient. What had happened was done and I had to deal with the consequences of my actions. Brooding and self-pity was useless. My imminent undeath would happen, and though there was nothing I could do about it, there was something I could do for my remaining comrades: help them find sanctuary.
I sat as quiet and motionless as possible as I tried to find a station on my radio, listening through a cheap pair of ear buds.
… is Barry Champion for WPOD Radio. The New York City Office of Emergency Management has issued a state of emergency for all five boroughs. As of twelve noon, all train and subway services have been suspended. All bridges and tunnels, along with The FDR Drive and the Westside Highway, are closed. A ban on motor vehicle traffic is also in effect; this prohibition does not extend to emergency response and recovery vehicles, public safety vehicles, utility vehicles, and vehicles carrying essential personnel or supplies.
All Office of Emergency Management personnel, Department of Environmental Protection, Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, law enforcement, fire department, conEdison power station, telecommunications engineers and technicians, and all hospital personnel, should report to work immediately. Anyone not requested to report to work should stay home or at their place of employment. Stay inside. Do not attempt to go out. If you are caught out and are unauthorized, you will be considered contagious and detained.
In spite of this order and warning, we have reports that streets and highways are packed with frantic people. The safest course of action at this time is to stay where you are.
The origin of this mass epidemic is unknown at this time. The first symptoms of this undetermined illness are high fever and chills, followed by disorientation, irritability, and the inability to concentrate. If you, or anyone you know, are showing signs of these symptoms, we urge you to call 9-1-1 immediately for medical assistance.
We here at WPOD have received consistent reports from witnesses to the effect that people are acting as if they are in some kind of frenzy and are on a killing rampage. The injured and sick are eating the flesh of their victims. Authorities at the Office of Emergency Management in Manhattan have repeatedly issued the statement that they cannot comment on these reports. Reaction of police officials at this hour is one of complete exasperation. Law enforcement and emergency ambulances are deluged with calls for help. Do not venture outside for any reason until the nature of this crisis has been determined. Keep listening to WPOD Radio for special instructions as this crisis further develops.
Once again, the New York City Office of Emergency Management has issued a state of emergency for all five boroughs. All office and factory workers are being instructed to stay at their places of employment. Do not attempt to get home. All train and subway service has been suspended. All bridges and tunnels, along with The FDR Drive and the Westside Highway, are closed. A ban on motor vehicle traffic is—
I turned the radio off. I heard enough. I tried my cell phone, but all circuits were busy.
* * *
We sat on the floor, around the corner from the exit door, and I explained what I had heard. They had no reason to doubt me. They had witnessed too much to disbelieve anything I could say. They were silent for the moment.
VIII. Tunnel Rats
“Are we stuck down here?” Julie asked. “And what about him?” pointing at me.
“Listen,
missy,
” I berated. “I’m not going to become a monster and eat everyone, so chill out. We should worry about where the hell we need to go for safety.”
“J.D.’s right. Staying here isn’t safe. And, besides, we have no food or water.” David paused. “But I know a place we can go. If we go back to 20
th
Street we can get to First Avenue from there.”
“Why not keep going?” I asked.
David motioned for us to follow as he explained.
“23
rd
Street has no access to First Avenue, unless you’re a rat. Besides 20
th
Street is where the staging area was for the boring.”
“Boring?” Marisol asked.
“Yeah. For the First Avenue tunnel pipeline.” He explained, “We constructed a shaft to lower down the TBM, and we bored a tunnel through the rock up to 36
th
Street. There’s a shaft there where we extracted the TBM––”
Marisol was slightly dumbfounded. She didn’t know anything about how tunnels under the city were constructed, unlike myself who knew a great deal. “What’s a TBM?” she asked, interrupting, hoping he would explain.
“A tunnel-boring machine,” he said, without truly explaining. “Pipes for steam and BPL—that’s broadband over power lines,” he directed to Marisol, “were installed within the newly cut tunnel…”
I think David actually enjoyed his job. He seemed to exude enthusiasm and way too much information anytime someone asked him about the tunnel system. From rock star to engineer. I’m sure this wasn’t in his lifelong plan, but he seemed happy.
“We’re lucky, because all the tunneling from 20
th
to 41
st
Street is bored, not open cut, and twelve feet in diameter with clearance for us to walk through.”
“What’s an open cut?” Marisol asked, another question I was sure was going to extract another long response.
Julie answered. “An open cut pipeline involves the excavation and burial of a pipe usually no deeper than twenty feet. We also call these cut and cover tunnels.”
David hadn’t told us everything. He forgot to mention that once we got to 20
th
Street, we would have to descend down a shaft, which would eventually place us eighty-five feet underground.
* * *
The three doors were before us once again. He opened the door to the right, which was marked
Shaft – 20-2
, revealing a platform overlooking a precipice. Only a hip-high railing stood between us, and a fall that no one could survive. If it were in me to commit suicide, this would be the quickest and easiest way. I could prevent a long agonizing death by ending it, but suicide had always unnerved me. In all my time as a paramedic it was the one thing I couldn’t comprehend, no matter how many papers I read on it. It wasn’t my lack of understanding of the
why
; it was my inability to grasp
how
someone could purposely hurt one’s self to the point of death.
As I looked over the edge, a shiver came over me. I equated it to my uneasy feeling of committing the act, rather than the onset of my imminent undeath.
One side of the platform held the doorway to a small freight elevator; the other was the entrance to a ladder. There were no graduating steps as before, just a ladder straight down the vertical passage with small platforms at different intervals for resting.
“So, we have to go down to go up?” I asked.
“There’s no other way.”
“Thank God there’s an elevator, or how the hell would I get Max down there?”
David pointed.