Chapter 8: Place to Hide


Francis reloaded his shotgun as the others made their way back to him. He glanced at them and scowled. "Thanks for the backup there, guys."

Bill looked down at the bodies at Francis' feet in disdain. "You fought off two Common Infected, Francis."

"Yeah, but what if there had been more?"

Before Bill could reply, Zoey's voice cut in. "Hey! What's that?"

The others looked to see her pointing at a large, red door built into a nearby wall. The sturdy-looking steel door was fitted with a small viewing portal with iron bars covering the opening. The survivors wandered up to the door, cautiously pushing it open to peer inside. They were met with the sight of a small, bare room with a wooden table against one wall with some maps hanging above it. A number of discarded wooden crates were scattered throughout the room.

"It's like the safe-room that I stayed in before I met up with you guys," Louis commented.

Bill nodded in agreement. "It is a safe-room." When he saw Francis' puzzled expression, he sighed. "A series of panic rooms throughout the country, set up by the military after the outbreak."

"Does it have a radio?" Zoey asked hopefully.

The war veteran shook his head.

"Food?" Louis asked.

Bill gestured to the crates on the floor. All of them had been ransacked a long time ago.

Francis snorted. "What does it have, then?"

The older man tapped the sturdy red door. "Shelter. We might actually be able to rest in here for the remainder of the night."

"I don't know, man," Louis began. "Shouldn't we just make for the hospital?"

"Son, we have no idea how many Infected are standing between us and Mercy. And it's been a long time since any of us have had a proper rest. We'll take what we can get."

With that, the four survivors entered the safe-room and closed the door, sealing it shut from the inside with a specially-fitted iron door bar.

"Those Hunters won't be able to get at us in here, will they?" Louis asked nervously.

"Not unless they can break down a bolted steel door," Bill replied. "If it turns out that they can, then we never really had much of a chance anyway."


Francis sat on a wooden crate, staring blankly at a can of cold baked beans in his hand. He had taken a couple of mouthfuls, and then found himself longing for a grilled steak.

"Hey. Uh, you gonna eat that?" Louis' voice cut into his thoughts.

He looked over to see that the former business man had already finished his tin of peaches.

"I've been carrying this damn can around in my backpack for three days," Francis growled. "You can damn-well bet I'm going to eat it!"

Louis spread his palms in a gesture of peace. "Okay, man. Just askin'."

Bill was sitting on the cold concrete floor, leaning against a wall. He reached into a small, crinkled bag sitting next to him and fished out a stale cracker. As he chewed, he glanced over at Zoey as she wandered around the room, looking around. There were a number of safety bulletins posted by the Civil Emergency and Defence Agency, otherwise known as CEDA. The flyers gave instructions on remaining uncontaminated, namely by avoiding direct contact with the Infected, among other things. Zoey chuckled to herself when she realised that she and her group had broken pretty much every single one of CEDA's rules. They were still not infected yet, so that was good, right?

She had then looked over the official maps and documents that hung over the table, but it was obvious that they were all outdated. So now Zoey had taken to perusing the graffiti scrawled on the walls of the safe-room. There were several messages left for loved ones, amid countless prayers for salvation. One particularly nice individual had taken the liberty of writing down a list of known evacuation sites.

"Hey, guys," she called out. "Mercy Hospital is the nearest evac zone. It looks like it's the only one left in Fairfield. There is another one in the town of Riverside, but that's miles west of here. There's also some military outpost called Echo, but it's all the way in the Allegheny National Forest. It looks like Mercy is the only realistic option we have..."

Zoey turned back to the wall and continued to browse through the writings. One message in particular caught her attention.

WE ARE THE REAL MONSTERS. WE ALL DESERVE THIS.

She then noticed that someone had scribbled a response under it, which made her chuckle.

Maybe you do. I didn't do anything.

"Hey, kid," Bill called her over. "You should eat something."

Zoey walked over and knelt down in front of him, accepting a cracker proffered to her. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a small, disposable lunch-pack of peanut butter, which she dipped the cracker into. She offered the peanut butter to Bill, but he declined with a wave of his hand.

"My last pack," she said ruefully.

Bill chuckled. "Don't worry. We'll get you some more soon."

"I hope so. We just ate the last of our food."


An hour later, Francis was asleep in a corner of the room, while Zoey sat on the floor, leaning her back against a stack of old drums as she dismantled her M1911. Despite the fact that she was more than ready to enter the Sandman's embrace, she rummaged through Francis' backpack for the small wire-brush that had been kept for cleaning firearms. If she neglected maintaining her pistol any longer, she could find herself in a lot of trouble. Bill and Louis stood by the door, conversing quietly.

"It is nice to be able to sit down for a minute without having to look over my shoulder," he was saying. "These safe-rooms – ingenious!"

"We can't stay here for long," the grizzled veteran said, motioning down at Louis' injuries. "We have to get you onto a helicopter, pronto."

He nodded in agreement. "Not to mention that those two Hunters might still be tracking us."

"Get some rest," Bill sighed. "I'll take the first watch."

"I thought that these rooms were 'safe'?" the younger man argued.

"Son, I'm not taking any chances."

Louis walked over to Zoey, who looked up as he approached. "How're you doing?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"Okay, I guess," she replied.

"Hey, I've got a question for you."

"Shoot."

"You were a college student, right? So how'd you get so good with guns?"

Zoey sighed, as though she was recalling a bad memory. "My dad was a cop. He was heading up through the ranks quickly too, right before my parents split."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Louis said.

The girl shook her head. "It's fine. Anyway, he had this dream that, one day, I'd join the force just like him. He was always taking me to firing ranges, teaching me self-defence, stuff like that. He also got me into horror movies. I wasn't a boy, but he always treated me like the son he never had."

"Well, you have a natural gift with guns."

"Um, thanks, I guess?" She turned her face toward him. "And what about you? How does a 'Junior Systems Analyst' get so good with guns?"

"Well, I always used to go to the local firing range at lunch. I don't know why, and my co-workers gave me hell for it. In hindsight, I guess I was just unhappy at my job, and it was a way for me to blow off some steam. I was actually working up the courage to quit my job when all this Green Flu shit went down."

"I was dropping out of college."

Louis chuckled. "Man, how stupidly insignificant our problems back then seem now, huh?"

Zoey smiled in reply and offered him the wire-brush.

He looked down at the state of his gun, and then accepted the brush. "Tell you what; I've got a new set of goals now."

"What's that?"

"Live long enough to succeed."

Zoey chuckled.

"I've got a new set of tools too," Louis continued as he dismantled his weapon for cleaning. "Guns and sharp objects."

Zoey laughed at that one.

Her companion shook his head. "With any luck, I'll be able to figure out how the new management operates before they get a chance to murder me."

"They've already had plenty of chances," she pointed out. "You're still standing."

The two sat in a contemplative silence for a moment, before Louis turned his head toward her again.

"Hey, uh... I've got another question for you."

"Shoot." Zoey glanced down at the firearm cradled in his lap. "Not literally though."

Louis did not chuckle this time. "How come you said you're sorry to that infected woman after you shot her?"

"You heard that, huh?"

He nodded.

Zoey sighed and stared blankly ahead for a few moments. "Well, they're people too, you know? It might not seem like it when they're trying to rip your head off, but they used to be just like us. And we'll end up just like them if we get infected."

"Do you always apologise to them when you shoot them?"

"I used to," she said, gazing down at her pistol absently. "But not so much anymore. It's getting easier to shoot them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, or if I should be worried."

"Well, it's all about self-defence. And survival," Louis pointed out.

"But having thoughts, emotions, and humanity is what separates us from them."


Bill grasped the stock of his M-16 firmly as he looked around the dingy storeroom that they had taken shelter in. Francis was flat out on the floor in a far corner, using his shotgun as a pillow.

"That looks comfortable..." Bill muttered sarcastically.

Louis and Zoey had fallen asleep where they had sat talking a few hours ago, with their backs leaning against a stack of drums. The pretty college student's head had flopped forward, causing her bangs to fall over her face. Bill studied her carefully. After what had happened when she got separated from the group, he was ready to tear the sewers apart to find her. He knew that she was the one who he felt the most protective of. Nothing was going to happen to her on his watch.

Bill sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was supposed to have woken someone a couple of hours ago to take over sentry duty. But they needed their sleep. He would rest when they were all safe.

He gave Zoey, Louis and Francis a couple more minutes of peace, before rising to his feet. "Rise and shine, ladies."

The others began to stir, and Zoey was the first to open her eyes. She found herself looking at Bill.

"Good morning, Vietnam," she murmured teasingly.

He chuckled. "Hope you're well-rested. I've got a big day of activities in store for us."

"Oh?"

"Yep. First, you're being served a buffet breakfast in bed." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a packet of peanuts and tossed it over to her. "Then, we're scheduled for a leisurely morning stroll through these shithouse sewers." Bill cocked his rifle. "Then in the afternoon, we have sports. Us versus the Infected." He looked over at Francis, who sat up rubbing his eyes. "No foul play, Francis. I want a good, clean game."

"Quit your blabbin', old man," the biker muttered.


AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I do not take credit for the little spiel Louis gives about the "new management". It is a part of his character bio. But it was awesome, so I wanted to include it in the story somehow.

Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone. I appreciate the reviews; please keep them coming, as well as any constructive criticism that you can provide on improving the story, or making it a scarier read. I'm no Stephen King, but I can still try, right?