The Reaper Virus (12 page)

We continued down the hall quietly and
cautiously. After a deep breath I explained further.

“Naturally I asked the property manager what
it was. He didn’t explain, in fact, he didn’t say much at all,
except that it was their entrance to the tunnel. Pursuing further,
I asked him where it led to. He told me ‘Not far’. At that point I
stopped questioning and just kept it in the back of my mind.”

Both Lance and Brad looked hesitantly
curious.

“Although I’ve been down in the basement a
bunch of times, I haven’t been able to go back in that room since
that day. And since that day almost seven years ago I have pondered
the mystery of that void in the wall. No one seems to know much
about it. Either that or they won’t tell me. My guess is the tunnel
leads across to West Franklin Street where the old dispatch and
administrative offices were. Assuming this is the case, it would
get us away from here and the hoard it has drawn. Hopefully,
Franklin Street is a little quieter. If we make it that far, we’ll
take it from there. Either way, it will get us away from here.”

A moment of silent contemplation followed as
we continued down the quiet basement hall. Brad broke the silence,
“Are we sure this building will be secure? If it’s not we could be
walking into trouble.” His question was rhetorical of course; a
step in any direction would lead us to trouble.

“Look at it this way,” Lance said, “at least
the workout will give us a little more muscle and make for a better
meal. I say fuck it. At least we would be going out fighting.”
Leave it to Lance it use his dry Texas humor in the face of certain
death.

Brad and I nodded in agreement as we reached
our target door. I removed the master keyset from my jacket pocket
and found what I thought to be the correct key. We shared a
collective sigh as I fit the key into the knob and it worked. We
had finally reached the pinnacle of high blood pressure. Then I
opened the door.

Boxes. Fucking boxes. Evidently I was the
only one who remembered the subterranean escape route. For God only
knows how long, the room had been used as a dump site for what
looked like
anything
they could find. You
couldn’t even see the back wall past all the clutter.

“Well damn,” Lance said, “it looks like we’re
gonna get more of a workout than we thought. By the time we reach
the back of the room we should be all sweaty and delicious!”

“Thanks asshole,” Brad said as we each
grabbed the nearest box.

* * *

1640 hours:

A pin drop would have been deafening in that
moment when Lance moved a box and behind it was blackness. After
what seemed like forever, the entrance to the tunnel revealed
itself to us. The task before us was daunting to say the least. Any
certainty we had in this newly uncertain world would disappear the
second we passed the event horizon into darkness.

Our bodies were exhausted from moving several
years’ worth of storage items into the hall behind us. Our minds
were even more drained from watching the world collapse around us
in the days leading to this moment.

I had the idea of moving everything to block
the hall that led upstairs. This wasn’t to further condemn the
coworkers locked in headquarters, but to try and save them. It was
fair to assume we were the only ones who knew about the escape
route.

The worst case scenario was that we went
through the other end of the tunnel and the infected were waiting
for us. If that happened, they would likely make their way through
the tunnel after finishing with the three of us. I wasn’t about to
fill half of Police Headquarters with the infected just waiting to
be released into populated areas. Even though I had little hope for
those left, I wasn’t going to condemn them from below. At least
clogging the hallway with boxes would create a physical barrier. I
don’t think the zombies possessed the higher thought or physical
stamina required for moving boxes like we did. If I could barely
move the mound of boxes then it was unlikely a walking corpse could
do any better.

A few minutes later we had the opening
cleared enough for us to get through, each with our own survival
bags. Lance had his duty flashlight, Brad had a keychain light that
did the job, and I had an LED flashlight I brought with me in my
pack. Strategically, we should have gone lights-off. However, the
ever-present and undeniable element of fear combined with the
unfamiliar environment made flashlights a must.

I had no idea how long the tunnel was. It was
cramped; we had to walk single file and slightly crouched. Lance,
having the only firearm, was leading the way. I wasn’t far behind
him. My Kukri was held to my side gripped tightly in my right hand.
It occasionally reflected glints of light from Brad’s keychain
flashlight behind me. We were bathed in still, dark, and stagnant
silence.

It was difficult to keep from thinking about
what we were traveling under. How often do you find yourself
crawling beneath Hell? My mind drifted towards regret. What if we
were making a mistake in leaving? If help was coming then we
wouldn’t be around to enjoy salvation. I shook it all off and
focused on the path ahead.

After several minutes a faint red glow became
visible ahead of us. The tunnel’s end opened into a wood and cloth
partition. It was almost like a fold-up wall that blocked the
entrance from view. Hey, anything was better than a couple of tons
of boxes obscuring it. A generic EXIT sign was glowing above the
door in the far corner of the basement room. I assumed it was on
emergency power; everything else looked to be dead. That meant the
power was out. I was silently praying that electronics were the
only things dead in the building.

Lance quickly cleared the room. We were alone
at the moment. I looked towards Brad. He looked anxious and gripped
a four-inch pocket knife I was unaware he even had. It looked like
a decent lock-blade with a black half-serrated edge.

I was fairly confident that we were in the
old police office on Franklin. Fortunately, the building had about
a third of the footprint Police Headquarters had. We were all
drained and desperately wanted to rest, but first we had to search
at least the basement area to make sure we were alone.

The basement consisted of three more rooms,
other than the one we were in. One by one they turned up empty. We
were able to breathe a short sigh of relief after that. I glanced
around some of the rooms for anything useful. Other than a lighter
I found in a desk drawer, it was just a lot of crap lying around,
cluttering up the place.

Lance fell asleep in a chair near the tunnel
entrance soon after we’d made sure the place was clear and I found
myself envious of his ability to rest given the circumstances.
Everything the three of us had just gone through was so exhausting
that it would be wonderful to sleep here in this basement. However,
knowing that we hadn’t even cleared the rest of the house and that
a great feral unknown awaited us was too much to process for rest
to be possible.

1730 hours:

Resting had become a futile practice. There
was no getting around the fact that we couldn’t stay in the
basement. The remainder of the building must be searched. Assuming
everything was okay with the unchecked areas and we could find a
way to secure the building, then maybe we can rest.

We gathered our things and ourselves and
discussed a plan. Going through in a straight line didn’t serve us
tactically anymore. The building was an office area with plenty of
blind spots. If the only person with a gun was at the front and we
got attacked from the back, the end result would be obvious. The
nature of our undead attackers necessitated a weapon in every
living hand.

Each one of us had a weapon; some were just
more effective than others. Lance was best off of course. Between
his duty equipment and training he should be alright in theory. In
theory, because nothing about the plight we faced was normal. Who
was to say that a normal person with a blunt object or big knife
wouldn’t be better off? I’d seen firsthand how quick those rotting
fuckers could be in closed quarters. Maybe a bladed weapon would
serve one better in that case. I became shaken with the realization
that when this was all over I’d have the answer to that question
one way or another.

There was no time to be lost in thought.
Seconds could become the difference between life and death. As we
prepared to leave the safety of the basement Brad hesitated.
Glancing back at him, Lance and I both realized how ill-equipped he
was. I reached into my pack and pulled out the mini-crowbar. He
grinned. What have we become that the thought of putting a crowbar
through the skull of a human being could cause a smile?

The three of us went over a possible plan of
action. Once an agreement was reached, we approached the bottom of
the narrow stairwell. Lance went first, followed by Brad, then me.
Once at the top of the dark stairs we kept our flashlights on, but
put them in our pockets. We all agreed that flashlights would serve
as a source of comfort, but also as a beacon. Anything inside the
house would see us immediately and thanks to the windows in the
house-turned-office building, anything outside would see us too.
Glowing pockets wouldn’t help us search the building, but it would
allow us to determine friend from fiend.

After a few minutes of waiting at different
elevations on the stairs, we each sounded off that enough time had
passed. The hesitation allowed us to audibly survey the area to a
limited extent, but more importantly it gave our eyes time to
adjust to the lower light.

We all held our weapons in white-knuckled
grips as Lance eased the door open. The moment the door opened you
could hear the cacophony of gunfire from Police Headquarters a
block away. There was little light around us. I can’t say I was
surprised by that since the power was probably out in the entire
city, and the skies were cloudy and full of debris from fires.

We branched out in separate directions, our
movements quick and calculated. Any hesitation brought about by
inevitable fear had to be thrown to the wind. Silence was our only
lifeline. Alerting any of the infected in the area to our presence
would easily undo our efforts to escape the horde amassed at Grace
Street. Lance had his gun holstered and baton extended, for as
comforting as its lethality may be, the forty caliber Sig must be a
last resort.

Brad headed towards the back of the building.
There was a good chance that the front door was unsecured, so Lance
took the front area. His mission was to get the front door shut and
clear the area. If the door were to get rushed, then at least he
would have the gun to give us a fighting chance.

We estimated it would take ten minutes for
everyone to clear their assigned areas. After that we were to
rendezvous back at the door for the basement. If anyone was late
they would be searched for, on the condition that the other two
would be searching as a pair. In the event that only one person
made it back on time then we agreed no one was to be a hero. That
sole person was to go back to the basement, lock the doors and make
their way back to Police Headquarters.

My task was the middle area, encompassing
maybe two rooms. Lance and Brad were lucky enough to have a little
light from the exit signs over the exterior doors. I on the other
hand had nothing. My eyes adjusted enough to keep me from running
into the walls but not nearly as much as I would like. I was fairly
confident that human shapes would be discernible.

Imagination right now was a bigger foe than
the zombies. Every water cooler or potted plant in a corner became
an undead figure thirsting for my blood. My heart beat almost as
loudly as the still audible gunfire in the distance.

Corner after corner and room after room I
found nothing. The flood of adrenaline in my system leading up to
my first potential and intentional conflict with the undead was for
nothing
. After a moment of this sweeping
realization I dropped to my knees and vomited up the small amount
in my stomach. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve I saw my watch and
remembered my deadline. I had slightly more than a minute before
I’d be left alone with a city of infection.

Fortunately, I didn’t have far to go. I
hauled ass, trying my best to remain silent and not to run into
anything. Lance and Brad were waiting by the door seconds later
when I arrived. They both had weapons up ready to hit me.

“For fuck’s sake it’s me!” I immediately said
in a loud whisper. Their weapons lowered. Brad punched me in the
arm in a semi-playful way.

“Man, you’re too fat to run up on us like
that with all the Reapers out there,” he said. I chuckled, rubbing
the new sore spot on my arm.

“Alright, this floor is clear, let’s move
some heavy shit in front of the doors and check the upper floors,”
Lance whispered. We kept our flashlights off to avoid outside
attention. It’s amazing how well your night vision can be when
survival calls for it.

By the grace of God, the second and third
floors were completely empty. Everything was slightly better
illuminated, thanks to the unobstructed windows. Either it was that
or our eyes had completely adjusted to the unnerving blackness.

We all met again in the center area of the
second floor. Lance and Brad looked like hell, and I’m sure I
didn’t look any better. This was an opportunity we would likely
never have again; one of safety. It should have been used to plan
our next move or to discuss our enemy. However, with little
discussion to the contrary, we did the opposite.

The building was now as secure as it would
ever be. Best yet was that we hadn’t alerted the area’s resident
infected or uninfected, if there were any left, to our presence.
This was a fact heavier than any tranquilizer or drunken stupor… it
motivated each of us to pick a room, find a comfortable spot, and
pass the fuck out.