07: …and Into the Fire
Sometime during the night, the residual moisture hanging in the air condensed and fell as rain. It was not a light drizzle, but a torrential onslaught of liquid, as if the sky itself was waging war upon the earth with water. The streets became shallow, crimson rivers – pieces of trash and severed fingers floated lazily. It was a grisly sight that would send chills down anyone's spine.
Bill, conditioned against death, didn't mind the bodies in the streets, no matter how mutilated they might be. As far as he was concerned, dead bodies weren't a threat. Right now, he had more important things to worry about. He had a few buckets set out on his balcony to collect rainwater. Although Bill kept a formidable supply of bottled water, he knew that it would one day run out. Nothing wrong with stocking up now.
The buckets filled up slowly. Bill went back inside to the dry safety of his apartment. With most of the furniture barricading the door, his living room was mostly bare, save for a small wooden chair and a coffee table. Lying on the table was the M4A1 carbine that Bill had taken from a dead soldier. During the past several hours he had disassembled it, cleaned it and put it back together. Although he disapproved of the accessory rails and fancy electronics, he was happy to see that the internals were just like the weapons of old.
Unfortunately, Bill only had six shots left in the M4. During the chaos, he did not have time to grab extra ammunition. While he had sufficient ammunition for his pistol, it wasn't quite the same as being able to make a long shot and drop an enemy with two shots to the chest, one through the head.
He looked outside the window. The rain continued on relentlessly. He noticed movement outside, but it was only a zombie. Bill wanted to kill the thing. He even had his rifle at the ready – the holographic weapon sight was centered on the zombie's head. From this distance, he wouldn't even need to control his breathing. Bill's thumb flicked the safety of his rifle off. A few seconds later, he sighed and walked away from the window. No sense in wasting ammo and drawing attention.
After some time, he began to feel hungry. Bill went to his survival kit and saw that there were still plenty of nonperishable food items. He chose a Campbell's chicken noodle soup and used a Ka-bar knife to open the can. Bill didn't even bother with a spoon; he drank the soup from the can as if it were a cup. It was certainly not as palatable when cold – but Bill had lived through Vietnam on military rations. Cold soup was delicious.
Even so, it did little to boost his morale. Although he considered himself a loner, Bill was getting extremely bored. There was no power to his apartment anymore, so he couldn't watch TV. Bill kept no books, preferring to go the library if he ever wanted to read. Already, boredom was getting to him. He had lost track of how much time had passed, but it had to have been several days, at least.
He tried to sleep, but the incessant pattering of rain outside prevented him from doing so. The sound of rain was too familiar, invoking memories of lying awake for long hours while in the jungle, knowing that the enemy could come from anywhere. Bullets and guns weren't all the threats either. The depths of the jungle held things far worse – biting insects the size of a man's thumb, poisonous plants and horrendous diseases: everything from pneumonia to gruesome, flesh eating bacteria.
Bill sat in the wooden chair with the M4 across his lap, waiting for nothing in particular. Surely, the rain would eventually stop and he would be able to go outside and find more ammunition. He could also go raid the library for books – it was only a few blocks away. As far as he could tell, zombies only appeared in large numbers at night. Where they went in the meantime, he had no idea. Perhaps they were like vampires and preferred dark, cool places. They would likely seek refuge in sewers and closets until the sun came down. The night was theirs then.
A series of gunshots shattered the sound of rain. Bill's eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet, chambering a round into his rifle. He crept to the window and looked around, checking to see where the shots had come from. From his vantage point he could see an intersection with some overturned cars. Bodies lay everywhere, bloating with gas and absorbed water.
Almost immediately, a man sprinted into view – he was African American, and wearing, of all things, a suit with a tie. Bill watched as the man vaulted over an overturned vehicle. He took cover behind it and reloaded a pistol.
On one side of the intersection, a pair of hooligans approached, whooping wildly and spraying the area with automatic gunfire. Bill saw one with two handguns, one in each hand. The other one carried an Uzi.
"Come on out, darkie, so we can fuck you up!" said the one with the Uzi. He sprayed some more towards the car – the black man cringed, unwilling to poke his head out of cover and fire back.
"Yeehaw!" the other hooligan concurred, firing one of his pistols wildly into the air.
"I'm telling you, I have nothing on me! Please, just let me go!" the man pleaded from behind the car.
"I have nothing on me!" the hooligan with the Uzi mocked. "Come on out and we'll see about that!"
"No way, man, you're just going to kill me! Here, take this!" The man behind the car threw his wallet towards the hooligans. "Now go, please! There's zombies out here!"
"We're still going to kill you!" shouted the pistol carrying man with glee. "We've got all day!"
Not for long, you don't, Bill thought as he lined up the sights of his M4 over the hooligan's head. He exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger. The M4 fired, sending a rifle bullet speeding into the man's head at nearly three thousand feet per second. Bill saw his head jerk sideways, accompanied by a red spray and a few chunks. He was already acquiring his second target. At the same time, the man pinned down behind the car jumped up and fired his own pistol several times. The hooligan dropped to his knees, for his legs had been shot out. Bill centered the sights upon his head and fired. The satisfying spray of gore confirmed the kill. He watched through his sights as the black man ran forward, grabbing the Uzi and the ammunition.
Down in the street, he looked around, wondering where the shots had come from. Bill decided to call first.
"Hey! You down there!" The man jumped, turned around and saw Bill.
"Was that you? Thanks, man!"
"Not a problem, now get your ass out of the rain. I've got provisions to last us a long time."
"Thanks!" said the black man again. He began moving towards the apartment – meanwhile, Bill went to remove the barricade from the door. He went out into the stairwell and saw the other guy, soaking wet, ascend.
"Come in, hurry," said Bill. He shut the door behind them and handed him a towel. "What's your name, son?"
"Louis Barker. And you, sir?"
"Just call me Bill." He went back to work on fixing his barricade. As he worked, Louis noticed a scabbed over bite mark on his arm.
"Uh…Bill…that bite…"
"Yeah, well, I haven't turned yet, so it looks like I'm immune."
"Oh. Me too, I guess."
"Oh really? Were you bitten?"
"No, some saliva got in my mouth."
"And how did you manage that?" asked Bill incredulously. "You didn't get gay with a zombie?"
"No!" Louis exclaimed angrily. "It was spitting everywhere, I had my mouth open at the time because I was shouting at my friend to get away…never mind." Bill laughed heartily.
"I'm just messing with you," he said. "Come on, help yourself to some food. There's plenty of it."
"Damn, that's the best thing I heard all day. I'm starving."
"You certainly look it," Bill remarked. Louis definitely looked a little worse for wear. The toes of his expensive shoes had nearly worn through, and a bloodstain marred his muddy slacks. His shirt was white, but several days or more (Bill no longer knew) of living hard had turned it yellow. He had been wearing a tie, but it had loosened and hung limply in a halfhearted tie shape. Right now, Louis was hungrily digging into a can of soup like a starving beggar. The transformation from businessman or office worker to struggling survivor must have been harsh.
"So, Louis, why the suit? You weren't on your way to negotiate with the zombies, were you?"
Louis was somewhere in between swallowing a large spoonful of soup and laughing. Unsure of what to do, his body compromised and some of it went into his larynx. He coughed and sputtered violently – were it not for his dark skin tone, Bill was sure that he would have turned purple. He slapped Louis on the back to aid with his coughing. A minute later, Louis was able to speak.
"Damn, man, you gotta watch the jokes when I'm eating. But no, I was on my way out of work."
"Oh. Right when you're looking forward to going home you walk into the zombie apocalypse."
"Plus, that was going to be my last day of work! Talk about shitty luck!" He shrugged and continued to eat. With rapid efficiency he finished the can and set it aside. Louis wiped his mouth and looked at Bill. "And how did you end up here?"
"This is my home," Bill answered simply. "Not much, but it's cheap and warm when it needs to be."
"I think it's a wonderful place," said Louis. "Well, for one person. You got a wife or kids or anything?"
"Nope," said Bill. He was shocked with the trace of satisfaction in his voice. Did he really hate people that much?
"Me neither," said Louis. "Hell though. If all this hadn't happened…" He pointed to the scene outside. "I'd probably have taken some time off to live a little. Get a less stressful job, meet a girl, make some new friends, that sort of thing."
"Shit happens, huh?"
"Oh yeah," Louis agreed. "Shit happens. We just have to make the best of what we are given though." He smiled wanly.
"You seem awfully positive for a man who lost his job and all chances of a regular life."
"Well, it comes from my background. When you grow up in a poor neighborhood, around racial prejudice and all that, you feel like you can never win. And sometimes it's true. But you just have to stay positive, knowing there is a way – because if you don't, then what's the point in even trying?" Louis was quite shocked with himself; he had just made a speech.
"That's not a bad way of looking at things," said Bill. "Me, I have my own rule I live by."
"And what would that be?" asked Louis, genuinely curious.
"Shoot first."
"Oh. Well, you're still living, so it must have worked."
"Damn right it did. This world is like a jungle now. Only the strong survive, and if you're not strong, you have to be fast."
"Flight or fight," Louis said, augmenting Bill's point.
"Dead on!" Bill exclaimed. He was coming to like Louis more and more every second. Sure, he was miles different from Bill, but at the same time, there was something about Louis that reminded him of young soldiers in his glory days.
"You know, son, you look like you might have been in the service."
"Oh, not me," said Louis. "I thought about it when I was a kid though, and I even went to the recruitment office, but they wouldn't take me."
"Why not?"
"I had epilepsy as a kid. Couldn't get a waiver for that. I thought it wasn't fair; my seizures stopped by the time I was fifteen. I was even able to play video games without my medication."
"Damn shame," said Bill. "You would have done well."
"Maybe. I mean, the closest I can get is with video games, like Call of Duty 4 and Counter Strike and all that."
"Never heard of those."
"Well, no use explaining them now. Video games are done for. Hell, we don't even have TV now."
"I'm not missing it. Never used it."
"You didn't miss very much anyway." Louis' hunger seemed to have been sated by the food he had eaten. Suddenly, he frowned.
"Something wrong?" asked Bill.
"Listen!" Bill listened – even at his old age, his hearing was top notch. In the distance he could hear the sounds of an approaching horde: an ominous shrieking mixed with rapid footfalls.
"Shit," said Bill, rushing to the window and grabbing his M4, which now carried only four rounds. At least Louis' Uzi was full, and he was even carrying some extra magazines. "They must have heard the firefight from earlier."
"Well, shit. Now what?"
"Cover us, I'll grab what I can. We're getting out of here."
"Oh shit…shit…shit! There they are!" Louis frantically pointed, but Bill waved him off.
"Then shoot the damn things, for the love of Christ!"
Louis opened fire without even aiming, despite what he had learned in Call of Duty 4 – the Uzi was harder to control in automatic fire than he anticipated, and his first few shots went wild. Soon, the bolt clicked on an empty chamber. Louis looked at his weapon, then at the horde. It was huge, at least seventy zombies strong. There were zombies of all shapes and sizes: big ones, small ones, fat ones, skinny ones, and everything in between. The rain still poured, washing blood and pus off their disgusting bodies. Even from here, he could smell the meaty stench.
"Goddamn it Louis, you pack, I'll shoot!" Bill snatched the Uzi away from Louis, loaded a magazine and began firing into the crowd with controlled bursts. Wasting no time, Louis went to the table where Bill had been packing supplies into a knapsack. He carelessly threw everything he could into there: a few bottles of water, some food, a first aid kit…
"That's it, I can't fit any more!"
"Then let's go," said Bill. "Come on, out the fire escape." By now, the horde had made it to the front door of Bill's apartment – they were clawing their way in, screeching madly.
The two men were immediately drenched in pouring rain, but adrenaline and fear ensured that they felt warm. They were on the ladder when Louis realized something.
"Shit, my handgun!"
"Just leave it!" Bill commanded, but it was too late: Louis jumped back into the apartment, grabbed his trusty PX4 Storm and ran back out. He scrabbled down the fire escape ladder, meeting with Bill on the ground. No words were exchanged: they simply took off running down the drenched street.
Most of the infected were still in Bill's apartment, no doubt tearing the place down. A few of them had noticed the escaped occupants and broke away from the group to give chase. Though Bill and Louis had gotten a good hundred feet of a head start, the zombies covered this distance in seemingly an instant. Bill was forced to raise his M4 and fire. Two shots, center mass, just like he'd been taught. He embellished it with a headshot – but now that only left him a single round. Another zombie charged: Bill fired, but his shot went awry and the bolt locked back on the M4. He waited until it was right up in his face and jammed the telescoping stock of the M4 home into the face of a zombie. Bill saw the face collapse ludicrously with a hideous crunching sound.
"Nice!" shouted Louis, who had taken command of the Uzi. He was firing in short bursts now – a few of his shots still missed, but at least he was doing some damage now. Their retreat was a slow one. Louis fired a short burst into whatever zombie charged – those that didn't fall immediately were destroyed with a brutal blow from Bill's empty rifle.
"Any ideas, Louis?" Bill said, his eyes scanning left and right.
"Nope, and this is the last mag, so you better think of something quick!" One of the infected made a soaring leap for Bill with claws extended – not a normal zombie. But that didn't matter for long; Louis' aim was true and the leaping zombie twitched like a marionette doll and hit the ground with a wet smack.
"Into that basement!" said Bill, pointing. He dashed forward, followed closely by Louis. The zombies continued to give chase, jeering in their gibberish. Louis was first in through the metal door, followed closely by Louis. They pushed on the door until it was closed – it was dark inside, but there was enough light through a crack under the door that Bill could see what he was doing. With lighting efficiency he began to field strip his M4.
"The hell are you doing!" Louis demanded, bracing the door with his shoulder. His bald head shone like a beacon with exertion.
"Jamming the door," replied Bill. He took the rifle's upper receiver and shoved it through the metal handles. Louis stepped back with his Uzi ready – but no zombies came through. They continued to angrily shriek as they pounded the door, but for now, it would hold. "Come on, Louis, let's go!" Bill grabbed the Uzi while Louis switched to the smaller (but more familiar) PX4 Storm. Their eyes were finally adjusting to the dark – they were in some sort of old factory. Eventually, the monsters outside gave up. The pounding on the door ceased, and an eerie silence overtook the place once more.
"What do we do know?" Louis whispered. Even though his voice was hushed, it seemed unnaturally loud.
"We stay here for a minute…and I'll think of something." Sooner or later, something might find them down in the dark. If that occurred, there would be no escape. They had to come up with a way to get to safety, and quickly.
"We could start with looking at our gear," Louis suggested, holding out the backpack he had packed earlier.
"Good idea, son," said Bill.