VII
No Mercy: The Apartments/The Subway/The Sewer
The sounds of the helicopter's rudder still echoed in Bill's ears, the sound of the pilot's cool, calm, and collected voice still fresh in his mind. He had said that there was rescue not too far from where they were, at Mercy Hospital. From what he knows, there was a helipad on top of the roof that was previously used to bring in patients who were too close to death or too far away to be transported by vehicle.
And now, they were going to use that same helipad to get out.
Bill caught Francis and Louis scrounging around the ammunition, using all the space their pockets and belts could spare to load up on ammunition; after all, they didn't know when the next time they'd run into ammunition would be, and the run-in with the Tank had nearly depleted their rounds. Lucky for them, the sleeping giant was still sprawled out below them, one hand over his enormous chest, a pool of blood forming beneath him from all of the infected he crushed on his way down to the pavement.
Bill joined the others at the ammunition canister, rummaging through it to find some 5.56x45mm NATO cartridges. Luckily for them, there was enough ammunition to distribute amongst themselves, and thankfully, for Zoey's rifle as well. Fortunately, her rifle uses the same type of cartridges the M16 does.
"Look at this poor sack of shit," Francis said, referring to the dead military personnel by the tent, clutching what looked to be a piece of paper. Upon further inspection, the survivors noticed that the young man's eyes had been gouged out, as well as his throat. He wasn't "fortunate" enough to become one of the infected…he just bled here and died. Francis almost wished he had turned so he wouldn't have gone through all that pain. Almost.
"Give me that piece of paper, Francis," Bill said, grabbing the sheet of paper from him. It was almost illegible because of all the blood, but Bill assumed that this young man held onto this paper for dear life in case some survivors were to come across his corpse. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of man he was before all this started, what life he lived and led. And he didn't look older than eighteen, possibly nineteen, almost the same age as Zoey.
"What's it say?" Louis asked. "Anything important?"
"Looks like it was addressed to all military personnel," Bill said. "Says here that there are certain places the military call 'safe houses'. What the hell are those?"
"I heard Jennings talk about those in the warehouse," Louis said. "He said that the U.S. Army was putting posts around the city so that civilians can be safe; there's something about the types of doors they use for them, some kind of steel, that proved to be effective against the infected. But look around us…how safe could those safe houses possibly be?"
"We'll worry about that when we get to it," Bill answered. "We need to head to Mercy Hospital. If I remember correctly, we can take the subway tunnels to the hospital. There's a redline station not far from here."
"Sounds like a plan," Zoey nodded, shuffling behind Bill.
The four survivors stocked up on first-aid kits that were on the table: some ace bandages, disinfectant, medical tape, and so forth were in the kits, things that they would no doubt need in case things went to Hell. Then they headed for the only door that was on the rooftop. When opened, a staircase brought them down a rickety wooden hallway that was littered with bodies on the right side. Francis and the others had to pinch their noses to drown out the smell to some degree, though it didn't help so much.
The end of the passageway led to a kitchen area that was stained with blood: flies flew about the place, dishes in the sink were murky or broken or bloody and the refrigerator was open; a survivor or some hopeless sap must've raided the place in a last ditch effort to have some food for their journey. At one time, this apartment was beautiful, with a family sitting in the living room talking about days gone by; now the blue sofas which were once used to comfort a loving family were thrown around the living room, positioned just in front of a television that produced nothing but white noise with an ominous glow.
The staircase leading down from apartment 3 was blocked by three heavy work desks. Francis and Bill attempted to move the top desk, but found that the legs of the desk were aligned perfectly with that below it, making it extremely difficult to budge.
"What do we do?" Zoey asked.
Francis scratched his goatee and gazed into apartment 2, which was on the opposite side. "We can try to take a look in there," he said, "never know, might find an escape ladder or somethin'."
"That's about one of the smartest things I've ever heard you say," Bill laughed. "Let's follow Francis' lead, people; we may be able to get out of this apartment building yet."
The survivors walked through the door-less entrance of apartment 2 and saw that it was in much better shape than apartment 3: the wallpaper still looked mostly intact and there were few or no bloodstains present in the first hallway.
Until they entered the first room on their left. What was once a young woman's room was now her tomb. She lay on the bed face down, her skin gray and her eyes lifeless. She wore purple and pink socks, which reminded Bill of the Cheshire cat from the book Alice in Wonderland.
Upon further inspection of the body, Bill saw a bottle of pain pills in her hand, as well as a few bottles of different brands of whiskey on her night stand. "No bite marks. She took pills and drank herself to death," Bill said, shaking his head. "Poor girl." He wrenched the death grip she had on the pills and stuffed them in his pocket; there was almost half a bottle left. "What?" he asked when the survivors looked at him appallingly. "We may need these. She certainly ain't anymore."
Francis shook his head and left Bill's sight, heading towards the living room. "Jesus," he said aloud, causing Bill and the others to catch up to them. "How strong are these vampires?"
"They're zombies, Francis," Bill corrected.
"Whatever! Look at the dry wall over there. Fuckers rushed right through there, tore it apart. Maybe the girl in the bedroom did have half a mind to end it quickly and painlessly than being ripped apart. And there's some—"
No sooner had Francis said that when a tentacle came from the hole, grabbing Louis by the leg. He had no time to react before being slammed to the ground below him, the breath getting knocked out of him, that he was being dragged to the dark corridor.
"Shit!" Francis called aloud, running past Louis into the open corridor to meet the creature head-on.
"Don't run in front of us, Francis!" Bill ordered, grabbing Louis by the arms and dragging him backward. Francis was already long gone by them, and Louis was grabbing onto Bill and anything else he could hold on too for dear life.
The survivors heard a loud bang, the sound of a shotgun being fired, and the tentacle released its grip from Louis, flopping to the floor beside him. Francis came back into the room with blood caked on his vast, the stock of his shotgun still smoking.
"One of those fuckers that got me in that office building, the thing you cut," Francis said. "I told you that there's more than one of these Smokers around, and it's next to impossible to kill one by yourself when you're caught up by its tongue. We need to watch out for these things a lot more." Francis turned his gaze to Louis. "You all right?"
Louis got up and dusted himself off. "Never better," he grinned, trying not to let the fear show in his eyes. "We better get movin' before those zombies make out where they heard the shots."
Past the ripped up dry wall led to another impossible disaster: the floor in the kitchen of apartment 2 was missing. The survivors looked down the hole to see if there were any infected about, and, seeing none, each dropped down one by one, careful not to make too much noise as they did. Jumping down caused them to see yet another ripped up drywall in front of them, this one leading to the streets.
"We made it outta here," Bill smiled, cracking his neck. "Thought we were gonna be stuck in there for a while."
When the survivors headed out of the door conveniently marked exit, their smiling faces disappeared when they saw a horde waiting outside for them, all of them gazing at the survivors with milky-filmed eyes. The first infected in front of the horde, an old man in a wrinkled argyle sweater, opened his mouth and looked to the sky, before getting a burst of rounds from Bill's M16 that made his head disappear.
"Defensive position, people!" Bill yelled, taking a knee and firing at the incoming horde. Judging by pure eye sight alone, Bill estimated that there had to be twenty of more of them rushing, and a few that had not yet realized what the rest of the group was doing. The infected that got close to them were smacked with the butt of a weapon then quickly fired upon.
When the dust and smoke settled, the four survivors checked life and limb to make sure none of them was hurt. Bill acknowledged three "Okays", as well as his own, and then they were off, firing short, control burst at the stragglers who still didn't know what was happening.
Passing a garbage can lit aflame, the survivors continued down the alleyway past a blue van that blocked another section of the alley and turned to their left down another alleyway. They saw the lights of a police car siren flashing, but no cops within that car, only a few straggling infected surrounding it. They dispatched the infected and turned toward the vast street that was littered with abandoned cars and trucks.
"The station's just down the street," Bill informed them, picking up the pace. "Once we get down there we'll—"
Bill couldn't finish his sentence as he rounded the corner of the apartment building. What was waiting for him just around the corner was an enormous blob woman with the same type of sores that the one at the police station had that vomited on Francis.
And now it vomited on Bill.
"Bill!" Zoey shouted, taking a carefully aimed shot at the Boomer, blowing it sky-high.
Bill fell to the floor, the vomit in his eyes blinding him, and writhed on the floor. "Oh, God, it smells like shit!" he shouted. "I can't see a damn thing! Where's the bitch? Where the hell is she?"
Howling filled the night air. Francis looked around him and saw that behind them, where the cop car was, were infected rushing toward the gate. This is what had happened to him last time, when he was the unfortunate victim of the Boomer. And he had been right about the smell attracting the other infected to its location.
"Get the old man outta here," Francis ordered, loading his shotgun.
"Are you fuckin' nuts? You can't take all those by yourself!" Louis yelled. "I'm gonna stick around to help ya."
"No!" Francis yelled. "They want the old man, not me! He's covered in that muck, so he's the target. Trust me! Just get him the hell outta here, Lou!"
Louis reluctantly agreed, shouldering Bill, who still had one hand wiping the grim and muck off his eyes. Francis took a knee and stretched his neck, grinning. The first infected that reached him did not even know he was there; it completely ignored him, which is what he was expecting and hoping.
He began firing.
Not long after, the horde was dealt with, and Louis and Zoey had come out of cover with Bill, whose eyes were bloodshot. They wasted no time piling down the street, Louis still tucked underneath Bill just in case. They made it to a descending staircase that had a spray painting of a house with a plus sign in the middle, pointing downstairs.
"Everybody downstairs!" Bill ordered, wobbling down the steps. At the bottom of the steps was a truck that went through the wall, fortunately not blocking their escape route, and beyond that, a barred red steel door that had many bodies littered on the outside, the flies swarming around them. "Everybody pile in!"
The four survivors went into the small room and shut the door behind them, looking through the eye hole to see if any infected were on the other side, which they were, although shambling after them, possibly unaware that they were even there in the first place.
Louis and Francis then dragged two of the desks that were in the room and pushed them against the door to keep it shut. And with that done, the survivors fell to the floor and sighed deeply. They were safe for the time being.
Bill immediately stood up when he saw an orange caution poster posted on the wall that was ripped. It read: "QUARANTINE: Contagious Disease. No one may enter of leave this building by order of the civil emergency and defense agency. Trespassers will be…prosecut…" The rest was cut off. It seems that there had been survivors in this room before, as there was, in bold print, two words that Bill cringed when read: NO CURE. And beyond that, NONE OF YOU WILL SURVIVE.
"What is it?" Louis asked.
"Just a quarantine sign," Bill answered. "Looks like this is one of those safe houses we were talking about earlier. We got some ammunition and more supplies down here, stuff we can use.
"What's that?" Zoey asked, pointing to the wall with a bunch of different writings on it.
There were writings from different survivors hoping to get in touch with their loved ones. Most of the writings were written in markers. They said:
ENTIRE CITY IS GONE – IF YOU CAN READ THIS, LEAVE with an illustration of a skull beneath it.
"Keith, waited 3 days at the meeting spot after we got separated. I can't wait anymore. Meet me at Mercy Hospital – Krista."
"SARAH! Jen is fine. Meet us in Riverside. – Aaron."
"Poor sons of bitches," Francis thought aloud, shaking his head. "Well, we're in the exact same boat they're in, so that goes for us too."
"There's an evacuation notice over here," Louis said, then cursed. "They've overrun the Hewlitt Recreation Center. Isn't there any fucking place for us to go that hasn't been overrun?"
"Yeah, Mercy Hospital," Bill answered. "Now stock up on some ammo. We need to get going. Who knows how long that pilot is gonna wait for us."
The survivors stocked up on provisions and ammunition and opened the other door of the safe house, flipping on their flashlights as they did. It was much darker down here than it was in the streets, and in much worse shape. The survivors hadn't even stepped out two feet from the safe house before they saw that the second floor concrete had been stripped clean off, causing a little drop to the first floor. When the survivors dropped down to the shattered and broken concrete below, Bill was standing toe to toe with another horde of infected directly below him. He fired in bursts and the others joined soon after, wiping the threat away.
"Was hoping there'd be less zombies down here," Bill sighed. "Someone give me a boost so I can get some more ammo up top."
Francis hoisted Bill back up to the safe house so he could stock up on more ammunition, bringing some along for the others as well. When they were all ready to go, they headed further down, passing two descending staircases.
"The Red Line North. It'll take us to the hospital. Hang a left after the escalators, people."
Past the escalators and up the stairs, the survivors were met with a derailed train that had many dismembered corpses on the outside. It looked as if the train came to a screeching halt; the front train car appeared to be smashed between the two tracks. With the speed and impact upon crash, Bill wondered if those bodies outside were patrons of the train who had been savagely ripped apart by the infected after they were dead.
"Holy shit," Zoey said aloud, whistling. "Guess takin' the train's out of the equation, huh?" The other three looked over at her direction and noticed that she was grinning, shouldering her rifle and wading past them. "Well, come on," she said. "We aren't going to get to the hospital if we keep up this pace."
The train in front of the one that had crashed in the divider was worse off; a section of the train had toppled over and destroyed some of the brick pillars in the subway—luckily none that held the place together—and destroyed parts of the platform. Bill wondered how the hell this could've happened exactly. Then he thought of an infected conductor.
They continued on the tracks north, watching in awe as the body count rose and rose with each step. There were men piled by the walls, women and children strewn across the floor and bleeding out against walls. It was something that any father or mother would be mother would be mortified by. A dead child. Children.
Bill thought of his boy and felt his eyes get glassy.
"Let's get goin'," he said, pressing on in front of the others so they wouldn't see the expression on his face.
The tracks led to another derailed train that had its back compartment door ripped out. As the survivors piled in, they noticed the body of a conductor slumped across the streets, one pale arm thrown over his shoulder, his head drooping below. Bill and the others tried not to disturb the corpse as they walked by, and Bill was starting to feel queasy. It wasn't about the bodies themselves, it was that his company was starting to get desensitized to the corpses and killing around them, which was a good and bad thing. Good to stay alive, bad if they become animals.
At the end of the train, the carnage was increased tenfold. Blood painted the walls to their left and right, bodies were littered about the place, and the smell was so terrible that it mixed within their clothing. There was also a bloodstained trail that led to the top of the stairs at the door to their left. They had little choice but to take that up, seeing as though the railway further down was blocked by caved in concrete.
"Aw, shit," Francis said aloud. "Guess we're gonna have to go up, huh?"
Bill nodded and then dropped to his knee, aiming his M16 at the top of the staircase.
"Bill what are you—"
"Shh!" Bill hissed, finger to his lips. He perked his ears and crouched towards the staircase, taking slow steps as he did. "Something's up there…something big. I thought I heard something breathing loudly."
"I didn't hear anything," Louis said, turning to Zoey and Francis. "Did you?"
Two heads shook no. Bill shook off his paranoia and the four headed upstairs. They were in a vast concrete room that was chillingly empty. So far, the survivors had met with little to no resistance, which is something that they were thankful for.
There was a light at the end of the large room. When they reached the end, Bill heard that sound again, causing him to fall to his knee and aim forward.
"Again?" Zoey asked.
"There's something here."
"Old man, you really need to—"
A large growl echoed in the room, followed by a hulking giant entering. It was a Tank. It rushed forward immediately, grabbing Francis with its large hand and threw him like he was a rag doll against the wall. Bill, still on his knee, firing concentrated bursts at the Tank's upper body, and, when lucky enough to strike, its head.
"Francis, are you all right?" Zoey shouted, scoping with her Hunting Rifle and scoring a few potshots at it. "Come on, man, say something!"
Francis, the breath knocked out of him, seeing stars above his head, managed to get to his knees and shook his head; he had a pounding headache from the throw and crash. Francis checked himself to make sure that he had every piece intact, lastly grabbing his crotch, and used his shotgun to hoist himself up, joining his fellow survivors in the fray. Bill was still holding his own, making sure he was far enough from the Tank to keep firing, and Louis was doing his run-and-gun technique, running like hell away from the Tank and then turning every so often to score a few potshots before heading off.
The bullets looked like they were bouncing off the Tank; he made them seem like they were pellets being fired from a B.B. gun, which pissed Bill off to the core. "Try to aim for the head!" he ordered, taking careful aim. "We don't wanna waste all our ammo on this asshole!"
After a minute or so, the Tank, bloodied from all the entrance and exit wounds of bullets, finally gave one last rampage forward, throwing its arms in the air and crashing face first into the concrete. The survivors were sweaty and fatigued from the fight, but they knew that there was no time to rest just yet. They proceeded onward, up the stairs into what looked to be a generator room. At the end of the room, a large metal gate was open, leading to more steps. Just up those steps, the survivors had an entire view of the generator room. It looked like a defense post set up by the military. There was a mini gun on the first floor, as well as barbed wire protected the entranceway and walls of the second. But Bill wouldn't be surprised if it was that Tank they just killed that overran this post by itself.
Bill's assumptions were right; the small office just ahead of the staircase had ammunition thrown on the table, as well as a weapons stash station in the corner, which was mainly empty save for one weapon.
"Groovy!" Francis said with excitement, pulling the weapon out of the rack and shouldering it. It was a Benelli M1014 semi-automatic shotgun, a weapon used by Special Forces of the military and police. Francis began unloading his regular shotgun and began stuffing shells into his new one, grabbing more ammunition that was on the table afterwards.
"Groovy," Zoey repeated, giggling as she said it.
Francis looked over at her with a confused expression. "What's so funny? It is groovy."
Zoey shook her head and continued on with the others, leaving Francis to wonder just what was so funny about his remark. But he took it as a compliment; if he could make people laugh amidst all that was going on, he'd certainly take it.
As they left the ammunition room, they entered a small hallway that led to many offices. Bill did his best to be quiet and close the doors just in case something unpleasant was on the other side of them. As he neared the last one by the downstairs staircase, a megaphone announcement was heard.
"If anyone can hear this, proceed to Mercy Hospital for evacuation! I repeat, proceed to Mercy Hospital for evacuation!
"It's the chopper dude!" Francis belted out. "We need to get some fire under our asses, guys! Let's get going!"
The four piled downstairs, entering a darkened foyer or reception office or whatever it had been once, and cleared out some of the straggling infected that were shuffling around. On the left hand side of the wall were more piled bodies littered about, and bloodstained walls. On the receptionists desk was a computer that was still on, but had no internet service, proving to be a bust.
The entrance doors of the office were pulled right off their hinges, but it led to the streets. Once there, it was a walk in the park to the other side of the long street, as there were only a few straggling infected shuffling about, which were quickly dealt with. The entire other side of the street was gated off, leaving the survivors no choice but to go into the building directly in front of them, which luckily had a safe house in it. The survivors shuffled in and shut the door behind them.
When they entered the room, they were met with some luck. Some of the crates that were in that particular safe house had rations in them. The survivors looked at it in disbelief, but that didn't stop them from digging in; they were starving. One ration had enough calories a person needs in a day, and they each ate about two of them to keep their strength up. When they were finished, they pocketed more of the rations that they could take and blocked the door they had come through with two crates.
Like the last safe house, this one had writing on the walls as well. They read:
"NOBODY IS GOING TO SAVE US."
"HEATHER: Ignore the plan, airport is quarantine. Meet me at Mom's. – Rick."
"THEY CAN TALK."
"Andrew Hale: Danny and I love you."
"NOBODY IS COMING TO SAVE US. They are going to bomb the city. GET OUT"
"To Helen Lane: Dad and Me love you and we are alrite. – Will."
The new Evacuation Notice in this safe house stated that Rideau Height Road has been overrun and that the new Evacuation Point was at Mercy Hospital, which is where they were headed.
"You guys ready to go?" Francis asked.
"I'm with ya," Zoey answered, loading up her rifle. "Who knows how much longer that guy is gonna be picking people up."
They unbarred the safe house door and immediately turned to their left in the skinny alley, firing upon the infected that were slumped against the walls. Bill was starting to lose all hope that there was a controlled area in the city; he was starting to see more and more U.S. Army personnel either dead or infected, and it was starting to bring his morale down drastically.
The end of the skinny alley led them to the back of a fast food restaurant complete with spoiled meat and piles of bodies in the corner, as well as the flies and smell that came with them. For the most part, however, the restaurant was empty of infected; those were waiting outside for the survivors. They opened the glass front door of the restaurant and kept a tight perimeter against one another working almost as a perfect diamond as they shifted and shot their way through the hordes. A Mack truck was plowed into the building next door to the restaurant, and another was parked securely by a loading dock. It looked as though the driver of the truck hadn't made his final delivery. All doors of this area were blocked off by gates. The only thing accessible was a conveniently placed lift at the end of the street that they could use to walk along the roof to get to the other building.
"Everyone on the lift!" Bill ordered, waiting until the other three were safely aboard. Once he pressed the switch for the lift to go up, an eerie howl filled the air, and beyond the restaurant they had just come from was an entire horde climbing the fence. Bill didn't even know if he wanted to call it a horde…it was more like an army of infected heading in their direction. "Set up defensive perimeters by the corner there. Two gunners crouch and two stand. Francis and Louis on the bottom, Zoey and I up top. Let's move, people!"
They quickly got into the formation Bill had suggested, which seemed to work out just fine. What was so effective about this perimeter was that there was almost no possibility of friendly fire, and if anyone had to reload, there were always three guns firing while he or she had to.
Francis was amazed at the sheer level of strength and lack of fatigue that the infected had. They never knew when their bodies were physically exhausted, and climbed obstacles any normal person would see a feat to do, such as climbing on top of that Mack truck and grabbing the aluminum siding, scaling it with ease. The horde didn't seem to be stopping any time soon, which was starting to worry Bill. Eventually, they stopped coming, and the survivors were allowed to breathe easy for a bit.
They made their way across the aluminum siding and made it to the adjacent building by scaling across a pipe to get in. Once there, they dropped below the gaping hole that was in this room and saw that there was some ammunition on the table. Apparently, the military seemed to set up some sort of sub-stations around the city as well, those that lead to the safe houses. Once the survivors were loaded up, they proceeded outside the small office and continued down the corridor, met by four offices. Looking inside only yielded a few infected that needed to be dealt with.
"Looks like there's a way down here," Zoey said, eyeing the staircase. "You wanna do the honors, Francis?"
"With pleasure," Francis answered, going down the stairs first, auto-shotgun at the ready. "Clear!" he shouted after a few seconds, watching the other survivors hustle down the steps.
Much like the floor above, this floor also housed rooms and bathrooms they explored, which yielded nothing.
"Here's a way through!" Louis said excitingly, grinning as he saw a small warehouse divided into three long shelving units. As he was making his way through, he heard a sound of someone sloshing around, sounding as if they were going to vomit. "Hold up, guys," he said. "I think I hear something."
When he pressed on a bit further, Louis saw a Boomer hanging out at the end of one of the shelving units, possibly waiting for the survivors to come through and get ambushed by his vomit.
"Zoey," Louis said, grabbing her face delicately and showing her where the Boomer was. "You think you can hit it from here?"
"Piece of cake," Zoey answered, aiming her Hunting Rifle and firing once, watching a cloud of crimson erupt from the Boomer.
"Nice shot!" Bill said, patting Zoey on the shoulder, pressing on. "All right, people, let's get going."
The back entrance of the warehouse led them to another skinny alley that had multiple infected shuffling around. Firing upon them as soon as they were in sight, the survivors piled further, heading down an even skinnier alleyway that turned into a passageway leading down a flight of steps.
Zoey heard a growl not far off from where she was. The other three were in front of her already descending the steps when the growl grew much louder.
And from behind.
She turned just in time to see a Hunter leap forward, knocking her weapon out of her hands and trying to claw at her with its long claws.
"A little help!" Zoey shrieked.
Francis immediately ran up the steps and used his shotgun as a club to get the Hunter off Zoey, then ran over to it and placed the barrel against its skull and quickly pulling the trigger, the brains of the Hunter spraying against the walls.
Zoey had a cut against her cheek that was bleeding mildly. She was mostly still in a little shock that that thing had almost taken her out of the fight.
"Zoey, darlin', use your aid kit," Francis suggested, bringing her chin up to inspect the wound.
"I'll be fine; it's nothin'," Zoey answered, being helped up by Francis and bending over to grab her rifle.
At the end of the staircase, Bill saw a corpse that was ripped in half. The poor soul still had his mouth open and it was highly possible that he was alive while this carnage was being done to him. The sight wanted Bill to vomit. When he pressed on, he saw that a manhole cover was just down this room, and it was opened.
"Looks like some people have come through here," he said in an effort to get some morale up. "Probably another group headed for Mercy. We should try to catch up with them is we can."
Before they took another step, Bill and the others heard weeping not too far off from where they were.
"Hold it, people," Bill said, fist up to halt his troops. "We got a Witch down here, so watch your steps and your flashlights; we don't wanna piss the bitch off."
Francis slowly reloaded his shotgun and gritted his teeth when he cocked it, the sweat trickling down his forehead. Bill looked at him and nudged him with his elbow, Francis giving him his "fuck off" look in the meantime, grinning all the same.
The weeping from the Witch grew increasingly louder as they drew closer and closer to the manhole. In this tiny room, there were pipes that cut off an intersection in the middle, and it was very difficult to see around the corners, let alone through the pipes themselves, so disturbing the Witch was almost a guarantee.
Bill's boots crunched with each step, pieces of asphalt scraped the ground. And the Witch's cries were getting closer.
As the four shuffled their way through the middle intersection of the room, they were relieved to see that there was a separate room to their right that housed its own manhole, as well as the Witch. They each let out a sigh of relief and were about to descend down the ladder of the manhole before a glimmer of light caught Bill's eyes.
Bill squinted and put his arm over his eyes to keep the light at bay. He walked over to the room and stared hard at the Witch, who still had her face buried in her hands. Bill shone his flashlight just above the Witch so as to get a better look at her, careful not to shine it directly on her. And that's when he saw it.
The heart-shaped locket he had given Beatrice. The very same one she had on when she had become a Witch and tried to slaughter him.
"Beatrice?" Bill said aloud, his voice echoing in the lone room, causing the Witch to look over in his direction. "Is that you, sweetheart? It's me…William. Your husband. Don't you remember me?"
Bill began to walk closer to Beatrice, his mind trying to stop his body to no avail. He was caught in a trance of disbelief that after all this time, he could still love something that so utterly despised him, and likewise. She was still Beatrice to him, his wife, the mother of his son, the woman who had waited for him to come back from the war.
The woman he had made vows to be together through sickness and in health, through rich and poor…
Through death.
"Bea," Bill sniffled, "please. Please recognize me. Please."
The Witch stood up now, obviously annoyed at this new presence that had come walking into her domain. Bill dropped his rifle and continued to pace, very slowly, towards her, his hand stretched out in front of him. But before he could make it any closer to his wife, Francis grabbed him by the collar and jerked him into the other room.
"What the hell do you think you're doin', old man?" Francis said in a loud whisper. "She's gonna tear you into pieces. You got a death wish? Leave that Witch alone!"
Bill looked into Francis' eyes with his glassy ones, and mouthed the name "Beatrice", unable to work the courage to say it aloud. When Bill mouthed her name, Francis' hard gaze let up a little, and he let go of Bill's collar, showing a little surprise himself.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Bill nodded. "She's wearing the necklace I got her years ago."
Francis sighed and shook his head. "What do you want to do?" he asked. "I mean, we can't take her with us, and disturbing her is going to be a danger to the rest of us."
"Hand me your shotgun," Bill said in a low voice.
"What?"
"Hand me your shotgun," Bill repeated. "I don't want her to suffer anymore, to keep crying forever. I want to end her suffering."
"You don't have to do this, Bill," Francis insisted. "I can go in there and take care of it for you. You shouldn't e the one who has to do it."
"I do…because she's my wife."
Francis nodded slowly and handed his shotgun over to Bill. "Do you want us to come in there with you?" he asked, and by this time Zoey and Louis had caught up. "We can do this together."
Bill shook his head. "No, this is something I have to do alone. Thanks for the consideration, Francis; for being such an asshole all the time, the times when the good comes out of you give me real hope that all will be well in the world in due time."
Francis didn't reply, instead leading Zoey and Louis away while Bill entered Beatrice's domain once more.
He gazed upon her and saw that she was back on her knees crying once more. She utterly hated everything about him and wanted to gut him and chew him and spit him out and Bill had no idea why. She was once his beautiful bride, beautiful wife and lover and mother and best friend and everything under the sun you could call her. And now…
Now she was just like any other animal Bill has put down thus far.
"I'm sorry I didn't protect you when I could, sweetheart," he began. "I failed you and our boy. I took his mother away from him and I don't know what I'm going to tell him if I ever see him again. How could I look into our boy's face and see you and not break down, hon? Tell me how I'm supposed to have the strength to move on. Is God going to make things better? Is he going to end all that's happening here and bring you back to me?"
Beatrice looked back over at his direction and stood up once again, letting out an annoyed growl. She didn't have any answers for Bill; she was a mindless drone now, like all the other poor souls that had been taken in Fairfield. A city of the dead. That's what they all called home now. And it sickened him.
"Let's finish this, Bea? Ok? It'll be just you and me this time, no one else. And…and…and when I see our boy, I'll tell him that his mother loved him very much. I love you with every inch of me, Beatrice. You are my heart and soul. You're my being, my every reason for living and existing. And I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so, so sorry."
Francis, Zoey and Louis all heard the Witch's loud shriek, followed by a shotgun blast. Seconds passed that felt like an eternity to them, and finally they heard something faint.
Weeping.
But it wasn't from the Witch.
- - -
All this time I had thought that survival was the key. It was then that I realized that the infected we killed or the ones who had died since the infection were the fortunate ones. We are the Walking Dead in the sense that we don't know when our ticket is going to get punched, when we're going to get ripped apart or bleed to death, constantly scratching and clawing for food and ammunition and shelter. So this I say now; those of us in this world who survive this ordeal…may very well come to envy those who did not.
- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)
- - -
Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait, guys! I got a little tangled up with some things! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I tried to make it as real to life as the actual game (I was playing through the campaign as I was writing it, so that shows how much of a loser I am), as well as the dialogue that was used (to a small degree). Look for an update soon. I'm hoping to make at least two chapters per campaign, which seems pretty fair to me. Take care and God Bless and until next time, be sure to review.
