Chapter 22: The Truck Depot: Part I
The four survivors hurtled through the scrapyard, surrounded by the calls and cries of the Infected. There were no doubt a lot of them, and they were close behind. Compromised, Bill and Francis ran out in front so that Zoey and Louis could also keep an eye on them as they ran.
This unfortunately put them closer to their pursuers.
"Look out!" Louis exclaimed, half turning and firing a panicky burst from his Uzi. Zoey looked back, but did not see what he had been shooting at. She had no desire to hang around and find out what it was.
"Come on, you two!" Bill called, waving them forward.
At that moment, Zoey saw a dark figure appear to his side, approaching rapidly. Without hesitating, she stopped, took aim, and dropped the creature with a storm of bullets. As that happened, Bill raised his pistol and fired two shots at something off to her left. She looked over to see a ragged-looking man slump to the ground.
"Thanks," she panted, resuming the run.
"We've got to hurry," Bill barked, running out in front to keep his gun trained on Francis in case anything happened. "If the faster ones are already on us, all the rest can't be too far behind."
The ragtag little group sprinted through the rest of the scrapyard, fortunately not being attacked by anything else. However, the cries of the incoming horde continued to draw nearer. Perhaps they were tracking their prey by scent.
"There's the truck depot!" Francis called from up ahead.
The others looked to see the outline of a large structure looming ahead in the darkness. As they approached, they could discern that it was a large shed, several stories tall, painted in an off-white colour. A large roller door stood open, leaving a dark, gaping hole.
He and Bill led the way across a small yard and past a small mobile lighting tower. The lights were off, leaving the area in total darkness. While Zoey and Louis covered the front door, Francis and Bill made their way through the open door into the parking depot and shone their flashlights around the cavernous building cautiously.
The war veteran's frown deepened as he surveyed the place. There was no way they would be able to hole up here. It was too open – even if they managed to get the main door closed, there were other places the Infected could come from, assuming that there were none already inside the building somewhere.
His eyes flicked to his compatriot when he heard the big biker cough and slowly redirected his shotgun. "How are you feeling there, Francis?"
"Fine," he replied, raising his shotgun defensively. "What about you, Bill? Your arm got mauled pretty badly."
"This isn't a competition! We have to consider the safety of Zoey and Louis."
"Yeah, well maybe you idiots shouldn't have been talking so loudly back at the crashed helicopters," the biker said slowly, stalking forward dangerously. "That's how those Commons found us. Now I could be turning into one of them because of you."
Too close for comfort. Bill stiffened and pointed his shotgun directly at Francis' chest, while the latter returned the action. The two hardened men faced each other down in a silent standoff for a full minute.
"Well are you?" Bill said finally.
"No. I don't feel different at all. Guess I must be immune."
"I remember how open-minded you were when Louis put that same motion forward when he was staring down the barrel of your shotgun," the war veteran retorted. "What was it that you said? 'Everyone's different'? 'You might take longer to turn than everyone else'?"
"That could be the case with you as well," Francis shot back. "Just 'cause you're still human after that pretty little scar the Hunter gave you, don't mean it's permanent."
There was another moment of silence as they glared at each other.
"I ain't gonna die in this shed, old man," Francis said presently.
"You will if it's required."
"Oh yeah? Are you gonna be the one to shoot me?"
"If I have to."
"Not if I take you first."
"What. The. Hell?" Zoey's voice rang out from across the depot floor. The two men turned to see her storming toward them furiously. "We have a goddamned horde of Infected on our asses! We don't have time for this 'macho alpha male' bullshit!"
"Stay out of this – " Francis started to say, but she cut him off.
"Zip it! We've found a truck, but we need help. Stow your lover's spat until we're safe."
The news perked Bill's interest. "Where is it?"
"Over here." Zoey led them across the depot to a large truck that was mounted on a workshop hoist.
Louis was standing nearby looking up at it, and turned when he heard the others coming. "There you are! Watch out for the bodies." He gestured to three limp forms lying on the ground nearby. They had all been torn to pieces. The cement floor was slick with dark blood.
Bill shivered involuntarily at the gruesome sight, and then shone his flashlight up to take a proper look at the vehicle. "Hm, I think we just found our ticket outta the city. We'll need to lower the hoist first though, or the suspension will be wrecked if we try to drive it off."
The four cones of light revealed what used to be a camping van, in all of its glory. It had been heavily modified and armoured, and there was even a large V-shaped tray welded to the front of the truck, similar to that of a bulldozer. It now resembled an armoured military personnel carrier more than the leisure vehicle that it had been in a previous life.
"We found the keys for the ignition on those dead bodies," Louis said. "Poor sons of bitches." He had to raise his voice to be heard above the bloodthirsty din drawing ever nearer.
"Yeah, and while you two were arguing like an old married couple, we found the power supply for the hoist." Zoey motioned to several power lines snaking away along the floor.
They followed the power lines back outside the workshop and came to an aging generator sitting directly below the lighting tower they had passed earlier in the middle of the yard. The cries of the Infected were deafening now. Bill estimated that they had less than two minutes. It was now or never. He immediately flipped open the control panel. It took a few tries, but the ailing generator finally roared to life, giving power to the lighting tower, which lit up the yard. Inside the workshop, the hoist slowly began to lower the armoured truck to the floor.
"Let's get inside," he said, pointing up at maintenance shed attached to the main depot. "If we get on that roof, it will give us a commanding view of the yard."
With that, the ragtag group turned tail and fled back into the truck depot, past the slowly-lowering workshop hoist, and up a set of steel stairs. They made their way along a catwalk running along the outer wall of the depot and soon found what they were looking for – an open doorway leading out onto the roof of the maintenance shed.
"I'll cover the door," Bill said, aiming his shotgun at the dark doorway behind them.
"We should kill the lights," Louis suggested, gesturing at the lighting tower.
The older man shook his head. "Sons of bitches are easier to shoot when you can see 'em. And they already know exactly where we are." He looked each of his companions in the eye. "We've come too far to die here. We're getting the hell out of this city tonight."