The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) (29 page)

It was a long way for them to be running at full speed and within a kilometre they were both breathing hard and starting to tire. Regardless, they continued to push on, sealing the heavy gates that were placed at five-hundred metre intervals along the passageway behind them as they went. They knew that Flash and a few of the militia were back in position at the far end, continuing with their turn on sentry duty, but they did not have a radio. The lack of communication with the group inevitably filled Al and Tina’s minds with thoughts of the worst possibilities. The door being breached or purposely opened in the confusion would destroy the integrity of the base that they were trying so desperately to maintain.

“If they get in, then we’re fucked,” Al snorted.

Tina grunted her agreement and increased the pace, charging through the darkness. They had no idea of the potential enemy’s strength, and although they could very easily contain them within the tunnel, even blowing the demolition charges to halt their advance into the FOB, it would leave their own people inside trapped and surrounded by thousands of the dead and with no chance of escape.

With just a kilometre to go, having covered almost twice that distance at a sprint while carrying their weapons and ammunition Tina and Al began to shout, hoping that their voices would be carried the rest of the way along the tunnel to warn the others.

At the head of the tunnel Flash could hear the distant, echoing voices screaming his name, accompanied by the sounds of running feet. He turned and looked at the faces of the militia soldiers around him. They stared back at him with worried expressions. He glanced back at the thick steel door and then turned his attention to the dark corridor behind them. The footsteps were getting louder and the voices more anxious. He could recognise his name but nothing else of what they were hollering to him.

“What the fuck’s going on?” he grunted rhetorically, knowing that no one else around him would have an educated answer.

“Could the infected have got inside the walls?” a worried voice replied from amongst the civilian soldiers.

“I doubt it,” Flash shook his head dismissively. “We would’ve at least heard some shooting. It must be something else.”

“Maybe it all happened too fast?” another voice offered, sounding shaky and on the verge of panic.

“Get a grip of yourself,” Flash snarled, shining his light into the quivering face of the man standing beside him.

He made to turn back into the tunnel. Before heading into the blackness, he spun around to face the men and women that were standing close by. They were watching him with wide, flitting eyes while looking to him for leadership and reassurance.

“Stay here, and keep away from that door,” he demanded. He understood their fear, and if he was honest with himself, he too felt scared, but he could not let it show. “No one goes anywhere unless I say so. Okay?”

Flash had visions of the militia guards panicking, and with no idea of what the emergency was and what was happening behind them, attempting to make a run for the surface. For all he knew, the dead could be just beyond the door and the troops around him suddenly opening it, feeling an overwhelming urge to escape the approaching danger, could get them all killed. He took a few steps away from them and cupped his palms around his mouth, about to call back along the tunnel towards the advancing voices.

There was a metallic clunk followed by a startled yelp from one of the militia. He spun on his heel, raising his rifle and ready to shoot anyone that was attempting to break the seal of the hatchway.

“I told you to keep away from the fucking door,” he snapped with anger as he leaped back towards the group.

His light passed over the two women and three men. They were all standing exactly where he had left them at least three metres away from the tunnel’s entrance. Their bulging eyes stared back at him, protruding from their pale and quivering faces as they held their weapons tightly in their shaking hands.

“We didn’t touch it,” one of the women replied, glancing at the hatch and absentmindedly taking a step further back.

“It came from the other side of the door,” another of them stated, the man’s eyes locked on the thick steel barrier.

“Shit, get back,” Flash ordered.

By now, the approaching footsteps further along the tunnel were much louder and the voices clearer. It was Tina, warning them to keep away from the hatch. Flash raised his weapon so that it was pointed at the entrance. The men and women around him followed suit, unsure of what they were doing or why.

As Tina and Al arrived, there was another clang from the other side of the solid metal doorway. The deep, hollow sound made all of them stiffen and hold their breath. Al jumped in front of them, his huge frame almost as wide as the doorway itself. He turned and glared back at them, holding a finger to his lips and ordering everyone to remain quiet. He took a step closer, shining his light against the hatch as he listened.

“What’s going on?” Flash whispered as he watched Al.

“Someone’s out there,” Tina replied, her eyes locked upon Al as he gingerly crept towards the hatch.

“Yeah, I gathered that much. But who? The infected?”

Before Tina could answer him there was another thud, quickly followed by a series of rapid clangs. This time the knock was much louder than previously, sounding more urgent. It was not the slow uncoordinated beat of the dead as they slapped and gnawed at the barrier. It was clearly a sound created by living people.

Flash turned and looked at the other members of the militia with a confused look on his face. They had all recognised the sound as being human and not from the infected. They looked back at him, their pale and worried faces reflecting brightly in his torchlight. They were anxious, and so was he. He turned his attention back to where Al was standing, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Al could hear muffled voices. He twisted his head, aiming his good ear towards the door as he strained to hear the words. He was unsure of what to do. There was a part of him that wanted to keep the door sealed, but his instincts were telling him to allow them in. He was certain that they were the same people that they had been speaking to for some time. Although they knew very little about the men, he felt that he could trust them. He turned and glanced back at the others, his eyes falling on Tina.

“Well, what do you think?”

Tina did not reply right away. She had all kinds of scenarios buzzing around inside her head. If they let the group in, they could turn out to be raiders. They could attempt to seize the base from them, killing many of them in the process.

On the other hand, she questioned why they would go to so much effort, speaking to them over the radio for so long prior to their arrival. The base could not hold out indefinitely, and she knew that they would soon need to leave. If the men beyond the door had been watching them as they claimed to have been, they would have come to the same conclusions, and it would make no sense to want to carry out any kind of attack.

Her hands were sweating, and her heart was thumping hard. She looked over to Flash and then the militia. They were her people. She was responsible for the safety and survival of every man, woman, and child within the walls.

Then an image of their cemetery sprang into her mind. In her lucid vision she saw it beginning to expand as the seasons rapidly flitted by overhead. She saw the walls crumbling and the hordes of infected smashing their way in through the collapsing gates. The fort became submerged in the blood of the living while the dead gorged themselves on the flesh of the remaining survivors.

Finally, she looked up and saw Al staring back at her, waiting for her instructions. Her body became tense as she raised her rifle. She nodded to him.

Flash and the others followed her lead, positioning themselves within the tunnel so that they had clear arcs and their weapons pointed directly at the hatchway. Every safety catch was switched to ‘fire’ as the group prepared themselves for battle.

Tina took in a deep breath.

“Do it,” she said firmly. “Open the door.”

15

“What’s taking so long?” Kyle growled from between clenched teeth. “What the fuck are they waiting for?”

He turned around to look back along the sewage tunnel. There was nothing but blackness. Even when he lowered the NVGs that were resting on top of his head, it was impossible to make out any details. There was not enough ambient light getting through into the subterranean passageways beneath the city to allow the outdated night vision aids to work. He sniffed at the dank air and listened, his smell and hearing being the only senses that were not affected by the total absence of light. If anything, those senses were heightened and more acute.

“I think they’re just being careful,” Mark’s edgy voice whispered back at him. “I can’t say I blame them.”

They had been static for considerably longer than any of them would have preferred. They waited, lurking within the stairwell leading up towards the surface from the sewers. It was dark and damp, and the echo of trickling water was a constant, accompanied by the faint sound of scurrying, claw-like feet and high-pitched squeaks from the thousands of rats that were close by and creeping through the tangles of piping and ducts.

Mark and the veteran had been tasked with covering the rear, stationed at the gate leading into the pumping station from the sewers. It was their duty to keep a watchful eye on the tunnel behind them in case anything had taken note and followed them while they made their way through the catacombs beneath the built-up area. It had taken them quite some time to cover the distance, just as Charlie had predicted, wading through filthy, knee deep water and avoiding the occasional floating corpse.

After entering into the system they soon began to hear the thrum of distant gunfire. Only the living could have made such sounds. A blast from deep within the tunnels rumbled towards them, carrying a wall of heat that raced through the foul smelling warren, and the atmosphere took on the distinct odour of burning tissue.

Pushing on through the pitch blackness with a sense of urgency the team eventually came across an area that was still in flames. The fire was spreading up the walls and onto the surface of the city above. Even deep below ground they could hear the crackle of the flames as they raged through the buildings, scorching and burning through the foundations. Some of the weakened structures had begun to collapse, the unmistakable sound of tumbling brick and steel raining down from the streets above them.

All around them, countless incinerated corpses that were mangled beyond recognition floated on the black waters. There were a number of brass cases lying scattered over the ground, a sure indication that living people had recently been through the area and created the carnage that they could see all around them. Charlie knew the route, having already recced the tunnels the day before, and he confirmed that the trail of bodies was leading them in the same direction as the base.

“Looks like they’re trying for a breakout,” Taff had commented as they continued towards the beleaguered fortress.

Only once had they stumbled across any of the infected that was still moving. It had somehow fallen down through a grid or manhole and had become lodged in one of the smaller inflow tunnels that fed into the main system. Its shattered body and twisted limbs were entangled amongst the other debris that had been washed up against a grate, pinning it to the spot like a skewered hunk of rotted meat. Its flesh had mostly fallen from its bones due to it being constantly immersed in water over a long period of time. Kyle had gawked at it in wonderment and watched the putrid, waterlogged creature for a while as it stared back at him, growling and gnawing at the thin iron grate that blocked its way from flowing into the main sewer. Even now after all these years and with its limbs smashed and its tissue stripped, the thing wanted him just as much as it would have at the start of the outbreak.

The route was clear and avoided any undue exposure to the hundreds of thousands of corpses above them that were swarming the streets. Still, it had been a tense three hours with each member of the group on high alert, and the strain of the patrol was beginning to show on some individuals.

Finally, they emerged into a wider section and climbed a short flight of steps. Their feet touched dry ground for the first time since they had entered into the sewers as they walked over the metal grated floors of the lower levels of the pumping station. They entered into a vertical shaft containing a flight of ornate, Victorian iron steps that spiralled up towards the surface. Beneath them and under the grates was the machinery of the pumping station. 

Kyle had been the point man for the majority of the journey, leading the way and guided from behind by Charlie and the corpses that lay in his path. He wondered to himself if being chosen as the lead scout was due to his reliability or whether Stan was punishing him in some way for voicing his concerns and opinions a little too loudly and too frequently. Wading through the foul smelling water, listening for and scrutinising every sound had been exhausting, but it was nothing he had not done before. For over thirty years now he had regularly operated against one form of enemy or another.

Again he had his doubts about how a large column of mostly frightened civilians would bare up to such conditions. The evidence lay all around them that the people in the base had already tried and failed in an attempt to break out for themselves.

Another series of thumps bellowed from further up in the tunnel as someone beat his fist against the solid steel doorway. Kyle glanced to his right and saw the dim silhouette of Mark. He was almost invisible except for the faint shape of his head and shoulders being highlighted from the lights of the other team members ten metres behind them. He turned and saw the others clustered together and standing in the small enclosure of the shaft on the opposite side of the gate. Their torch beams reflected from the pale steel of the hatchway as they waited for a reply from the other side.

There was a sloshing sound to his front, coming from the black mouth of the sewer tunnel. Kyle and Mark strained to listen, trying to identify how many there were from the sound of the water being disturbed. It was impossible to tell.

“Fuck this,” the veteran finally huffed, and reached for his light.

The beam was powerful and reached far into the darkness, revealing the thick, mildew covered pipes and drains that hugged the walls and ceiling of the tunnel. Roughly twenty metres away and highlighted in the bright white circle of Kyle’s light, a figure was wading towards them. Due to the narrowness of that particular section, it was difficult to tell if it was alone or if there were more following. He flipped down the NVGs from on top of his head, the curved walls becoming visible in shades of luminescent green and impenetrable black. In the centre of the tunnel glowed the crooked body of a man that seemed completely transfixed by the light that was shining from up ahead.

“We’ve got a straggler,” he called over his shoulder and warning the others.

“Are there any more with it?” Mark asked, straining his eyes.

“None seen.”

“I’ll sort it,” Mark volunteered, and began to push forward.

Kyle followed after him, keeping the infected corpse bathed in his light as they closed in. He knew from experience that they could not afford to take their eyes away from the thing, even for a few seconds. The dead had a habit of disappearing into the gloom and then suddenly re-emerging at close range as if from nowhere. It was more of a natural ability on their part rather than a deliberate tactic. He had been surprised, almost being overwhelmed, on many occasion by such incidents.

The veteran watched as Mark dealt the lethal blow and let the body drop into the water. He moved his light from left to right ensuring that there were no more of them creeping through the shadows unnoticed.

“Fuck, that one reeked,” Mark huffed with disdain as he began to edge his way back towards Kyle. “Looks clear now.”

Taff and Bull were standing directly in front of the door and nervously waiting for a response. Stan was just behind them, looking as calm as ever, but clutching a high-explosive grenade in his hand with the ends of the pin already crimped together for an easy release. Charlie and his men had moved up the steps towards the main building of the pumping station to post sentries at street level while one of them, Nobby, remained halfway up the twisting staircase to act as a link-man between the two groups.

“Try again,” Stan whispered with an encouraging nod.

Taff stepped forward and raised his fist towards the hatch. He cringed at the thought of having to beat his hand against it again. In his mind they had made enough noise as it was. He feared that it was only a matter of time before something in the streets or underground with them took notice of the hollow, metallic thuds.

“Wait,” Bull said, placing his hand on Taff’s shoulder and stopping him before he was able to strike the barrier again.

The others around him paused and held their breath. They could hear something. Someone was on the other side.

“Get back,” Stan ordered, looping his finger through the ring attached to the grenade pin.

There was a heavy clunk as the locking mechanism was turned, followed by a faint whine. Bull raised his rifle and pointed it at the seal of the door, moving to the side of the frame and presenting a smaller target.

“They’re coming out.”

Taff stepped back, dropped into a crouch, and took up a similar position on the opposite side from him. Only Stan remained where he was in order to get a clear view of what was on the other side, ready to pull the pin and sling the grenade through the doorway before jumping for cover.

The hatch began to move, opening slowly. As the air-tight seal was broken, a breeze brushed against their faces as the slight differences in the two atmospheres equalised. A shaft of faint light flowed out from the narrow gap in the doorway, dancing over the threshold and casting the stairwell in a pale glow. The door opened further and the light became brighter, suddenly shining into the faces of the assembled men.

No one moved or spoke, but kept their weapons trained on the various points where the lights emitted from. As the gap in the door grew larger, the light grew more intense until the cramped cavern of the stairwell was illuminated by an array of bright, flickering beams.

“Don’t shoot,” Stan demanded, his finger tugging gently at the grenade pin.

Bull took up the first pressure on his trigger, instinctively knowing that attached to the individual shafts of light would be the barrels of rifles that were being pointed straight at them. His eyes narrowed and his body tensed, ready to spring into action if Stan’s grenade came hurtling past them or someone from the other side fired. He remained still, holding his ground and aware of his movements. His weapon was now trained on the closest of the lights and the indistinct shape of the person that was standing directly behind it. Within the blink of an eye, Bull could place a tight, five round grouping of shots into the centre of mass of his target, dropping them instantly. 

“Hold your fire,” Stan hissed again through the doorway, hoping that his words were not falling on deaf and frightened ears. “Don’t shoot. We’re not here to fight you.”

The lights remained shining into the faces of Stan and his men, fixing them to the spot, and exposing them as easy prey. It was a situation that they had expected and planned for. There was no other way of them coming face to face, and they knew that the first encounter would be a twitchy affair. The team needed to keep their cool, relying on their steely nerves and avoiding any aggressive movements or provocation. Stan, however, would keep a tight hold on the grenade in his hand until he was sure that the meeting was not about to erupt into a bloody shootout. 

From beyond the hatchway a number of figures moved, shifting their positions as they anxiously searched for a safer firing point. Bull would have laughed if the circumstances had not been so serious, and he instantly came to the conclusion that most of the group facing them were obviously made up of untrained and inexperienced troops. Their breathing and nervous movements spoke volumes to him through the silence, and if he had not been such a seasoned veteran, he may have panicked himself and opened fire at some of the flitting shapes, misinterpreting their movements as being aggressive.

For what seemed a long time the two groups stood staring back at one another, refusing to lower their weapons as the anxious silence shrouded them. Directly in front of Bull and Taff stood a huge man, Taff’s light shining into his broad face and revealing his scarred features. The rifle in his hands, appearing like a child’s toy, was pointed directly at Bull’s chest. He stared back at them, his red-rimmed eyes locked on theirs and his body language displaying a high level of suspicion and simmering aggression towards them.

Taff was the first to move. Slowly, and with extreme caution in order to avoid making any sudden movements that could be misinterpreted as being hostile, he lowered his weapon so that the barrel was pointed towards the ground in front of the large man’s feet. He straightened up from his partial crouch, giving the people beyond the doorway a clear view of him and presenting himself as a man willing to place his faith in their self-control.

“Like the man said, we’re not here to fight with you, bud,” he stated in his thick Welsh accent, adding an affirmative nod of his head.

The man standing in front of him straightened a little, growing even larger in size. His eyes squinted and then widened slightly as he recognised Taff’s voice. It was the same voice that had been speaking to them through the radio before their high-frequency set had broken down on them and severed their communications.