Chapter 41: The Greenhouse
After another hour of walking, it was well into the evening before the city of Newburg stretched across the landscape before the group. The air was thick with dark smoke from many buildings that were in the process of burning furiously.
"The last time I was here, the city wasn't so much on fire," Zoey deadpanned grimly.
"What the hell happened here?" Louis exclaimed. "Did the Infected learn how to use lighters or something?"
"Those planes we saw earlier today were providing support for ground units," Bill mused. "The army must still be here, fighting for control of the city. I'd say they fire-bombed the area."
"That's terrible," Zoey said softly, as she was struck with the harsh reality of all the people who may have been caught in the strike zone – all now burnt to crisps.
"We need to get off the streets," the old man said, motioning toward a fire-escape on the side of a nearby apartment building.
He took point with the team's sole firearm, moving quickly across the street and shimmying up the steel ladder with impressive spryness. The others followed him onto the roof, where they were met with a shear brick wall – the side an old-looking brick structure with a glass roof.
"It's a rooftop greenhouse," Louis remarked, his eyes scanning around for any danger.
"Let's hope they were growing the good stuff inside," Francis commented.
Bill led the way to a side door, which stood open. "Give me a light," he said over his shoulder, to which he was handed the group's one remaining flashlight. He shone it through the door and found himself peering into a dark backroom. "All clear," he finally said.
The four survivors piled into the greenhouse, shutting the door behind them securing the small room that they had entered. Francis barricaded both of the doors with wooden shelves. Only then did they allow themselves to relax. Zoey dropped the heavy backpack, Louis sprawled out gratefully on the floor and Francis sat down on a wooden table, sweeping aside several pot plants.
"Alright, what's the plan?"
"Immediate or long-term?" Bill inquired.
"I think we all know what our immediate concerns are – we need guns. Lots of 'em." The burly biker motioned down at the small flip-knife that Zoey was hanging onto. "I seriously doubt that little pig-sticker is gonna do us much good if we run into a larger crowd of Infected."
She shot him a dirty look, but closed the knife and stowed it in the back pocket of her jeans regardless.
"For once, you have a point, Francis," Bill said. "I'd wager that the army is operating from the airport – they'd need the runway for their planes. If this city has become a battlefield, then we'll need to be armed and ready."
"So we'll head to Metro International Airport?" Zoey said. "We came into Newburg from the east, so we have to head northwest."
"Sounds good to me. Let's do it," Louis chimed in, rummaging through the backpack and passing around a packet of pretzels and a bottle of water.
"Alright," Bill nodded in agreement, tossing back a handful of pretzels. "We'll rest up here for three hours, and then move out. Get as much sleep as you can."
As he and Louis finished off the packet of pretzels, Zoey went over and sat down on the table next to Francis. "How's your shoulder feeling?" she asked gingerly.
"What, this little bullet-hole?" he laughed. "It's nothing. Gimme a couple of pain pills and I'll forget it's even there."
"Francis…" she sighed. "You can drop the act."
"It's no act. In fact, I'll tell you what really hurts – taking a round of rock-salt to the gut."
"Rock-salt?"
"Oh yeah. Our gang clubhouse was raided by the cops all the time; seizing weapons, drugs, the usual shit. They used all sorts of crap too – tasers, rubber bullets, pepper spray – but the most painful thing I've ever been shot with would have to be rock-salt."
"Damn, Francis... How many times have you been shot in your life?"
He shrugged. "Lost count."
There was a moment of silence as they each took a drink from the water bottle before Francis spoke again.
"I'll tell you what though – if we ever run into those Slaters again… I'm gonna pump rock-salt into every orifice I can find, starting with their eyes. And I'll save John for last… for what he did to you."
Zoey was horrified by the biker's bloodlust, and equally touched by his gesture. "…What?"
"You heard me. No one messes with you, and then makes off with all our shit – not if I have anything to say about it."
"Well… er, thanks, I guess? But you don't need to worry. I can look after myself."
"I know you can, but the offer is there. I'll even let you kick off the rock-salt torture."
She stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Hm, well if I run into Amanda again, I'll shoot her in the shoulder for you."
Francis snorted. "Is that it? Come on, you can do better than that."
"Shoot her in the kneecaps?"
"Not painful enough."
"I give up."
"How about this? You cut off her legs and then leave her out in the streets for the Infected to find."
Zoey shot him a disgusted look. "That's dark. And cold, man."
Three hours later, the four survivors crept out of the backroom and entered the main area of the greenhouse. Two long tables, littered with pot plants and gardening equipment, ran down the length of the room, while the glass roof overhead gave a clear view to the dark sky above.
Bill pointed the pistol ahead into the dark room with a firm two-handed grip. "All clear," he finally said quietly over his shoulder.
They made their way through the room, keeping an eye out for any danger. Luckily, the greenhouse appeared to be deserted. Bill whistled softly and then motioned at the door on the far side of the room. Zoey started to make her way toward it, but stopped when she heard something.
A low growl.
She froze and looked around the room, but could not see anything dangerous. Had the sound come from overhead? Her gaze shot up at that notion, but she could only see the dark cloudy sky through the glass roof.
"Did you hear that?" Louis whispered from the side, to which she nervously nodded her head.
"Come on!" Bill hissed from the far door.
"We heard something just now," the former business man replied, causing the others to turn.
"Where?"
"I'm not sure..."
There was a moment of silence as they listened for any more sounds. Zoey gripped her tiny flip-knife tightly. She knew that it would hardly do much to protect her, but she still felt less naked with it.
"…Hm, if there are Infected out there, they could be anywhere," Bill mused. "Perhaps we should hole up in the back room? Maybe we could wait it out another day."
"We can't stay up here forever," Zoey said quietly. When she noticed that everyone was looking at her, she continued, "If we take too long, the army might be gone by the time we get to the airport."
"I'm with Zoey on this one," Francis grunted, pushing open the exit door. "We're on the clock."
"Okay, but stay sharp," Bill murmured, following the burly biker as he led the way out onto the rooftop.
Zoey's heart skipped a beat as she looked around and saw the extent of the destruction to the district brought about by the fire. It was almost as if the sky was basked in a glow of orange-red.
"Stay close," the war veteran said quietly, ushering them forward. "We'll make our way across these rooftops."
As he went to join the others, Louis stole a glance back at the greenhouse they had just left. As he did, he froze in horror. There, perched on the edge of the greenhouse roof, silhouetted by the dark orange-blue clouds of smoke behind them, were three shadowy figures, hunched over on all fours. Despite the darkness, he could still discern the hoods covering their faces, the wicked-looking claws, the powerful, muscular back legs.
"Look out! Hunters!" he cried, running forward.
A terrible, otherworldly scream split the air.