Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death (13 page)

15.

Brad’s head snapped forward, his
heart racing.
Another nightmare,
he thought, taking in big gulps of air
to calm his nerves. He glanced around, searching the room. It was quiet, but
more than that, there was light. Where was it coming from? Brad searched the walls.
High in a corner, a small blade of light filtered into the pharmacy. He got to
his feet and moved towards it. There was a round can-type light fixture mounted
in the ceiling. At the edge of the fixture a very small ray of light was coming
through. Brad took a stool from a corner of the room and stood on it so that he
could reach the light. He used his knife and pried away the frame of the cover.

More light bled into the room. Brad
reached up and grabbed ahold of the fixture and twisted it hard in his hand; as
he pulled, he lost his footing and fell, but he took the light down with him.
He crashed to the floor hard, landing on his back and knocking the wind out of
himself. The primals had taken notice of the commotion and began to moan and
again assault the barricade. Brad lay on his back trying to recover from the
fall. He looked up and saw that he had not only yanked out the light fixture
but had also broken away a large chunk of the ceiling.

More daylight was now pouring into
the room. Brad could see up above the plaster and sheetrock ceiling to another
metal roof above it. There was maybe three feet of dead space between the
ceiling and the roof. Brad got back on the stool and grabbed the edge of the
sheet rock and pulled down. It cracked and gave way, falling to the floor with
a crash. The primals became frenzied at the sounds of activity. Brad ignored
them and continued to work away at the ceiling until he had a hole that he
could easily fit through.

He pulled one of the shelves away
from a far wall and braced it so that he could climb it like a ladder. The
heavy metal shelving was sturdy and took his weight, but it was loud and the
steel screeched in protest as he put his weight on the shelves. Brad was able
to get his head and shoulders above the ceiling and into the dead space. He
used his light to look in all directions. The entire clinic was covered in the
low dropped ceiling; he could see runs of electrical and computer cables, and
metal ventilation ducts ran along the walls.

Less than ten feet from his
position Brad saw a plank no more than eighteen inches wide that crossed the
dead space: an access walkway. He knew that it should lead to an attic access,
or maybe even the roof. Brad dropped back into the pharmacy and excitedly began
strapping on his gear. He took the shotgun in his hand, debating whether he
should keep it or toss it. He shook his head and quickly strapped it to the top
of his bag, grabbed his M4 and moved back to the makeshift ladder.

“Chief? Chief, can you hear me?”
Brad said. “Chief, are you there? I think I found a way out. I’m going for it.”

Brad pulled on the backpack as he
waited for a reply. He looked back around the room and at the barricade. The
noise from moving the shelves and breaking the ceiling had stirred up the primals,
but Brad didn’t care anymore. He took his M4 and connected it to the front of
his armor and climbed the shelving. He positioned himself as high as he could,
then grabbed a bundle of electrical wire with his gloved hands and pulled
himself into the dead space.

He had to cross several feet of
open ceiling covered with insulation before he would reach the plank walkway.
Brad positioned himself on a ceiling joist and slowly shimmied his way towards
the planks. As he moved, he felt the ceiling rattle and flex. He moved
steadily, making good time and finally reached the edge of the plank. Brad
stretched out and again using the wires pulled himself across to the narrow
boards and onto the plank. 

He used his flashlight to search
the space ahead and to try and get his bearings. He estimated he must be
directly above the room outside of the pharmacy, directly above the primals. He
could hear them below snarling and growing ever more frenzied, attacking the
barricade. Brad slowly pulled himself onto his knees. While walking on all
fours he would just barely clear the metal roof above him. Brad crawled along
the plank towards what he knew was the center of the clinic.

As he moved, he realized the
primals below were following him. He felt an impact shudder through him; they
must have jumped up against the ceiling, trying to get at him. Brad felt the
plank buck under his knees.  He crawled fast towards the heart of the
building. The primals below stayed with him, jumping and slapping against the
ceiling below. Brad found another section of plank that broke off at a right
angle. He followed it, hoping it would stop or confuse the primals.

He heard them below screaming and
pounding on a closed door. Brad continued to crawl looking for a way out as he
heard breaking glass and a door being slammed open. Soon the primals were again
below him.
Light!
He could see more light where the end of the plank met
an attic vent. A large square panel was set into the block wall. Brad moved
quickly towards it and pulled on the louvered vents. It was of a heavy metal
design; the vents were made to pivot to allow air to flow out of the attic but
prevent outside air from getting in.

Brad flexed the louvers and pried
them fully open. He could see outside now. The sun was up, and he saw an empty
alley below him. Brad attempt to pull the panel out towards him, but it
wouldn’t give. He carefully rolled to his back and kicked with both feet,
knocking the vent free. He heard it fall and rattle as it hit the ground
outside. He felt the plank below him buck again as the primals launched
themselves into the ceiling. He saw a crack in the sheetrock to his right and
clouds of dust form as the primals worked their way through.

Farther back he saw a hand punch
through the sheetrock and rip down an entire section of the ceiling. Brad was
beginning to panic as he watched primal arms reach through the ceiling
searching for handholds. He launched himself at the vent hole but couldn’t get
himself through. Pulling back, he took off the pack and tried again. He could
get his shoulders through. Brad stretched through the opening and first
considered dropping to the ground, but looking up he could see that the roof
edge was within reach.

Brad pulled back inside the hole
and grabbed his pack. A primal cleared the ceiling and pulled itself onto the
plank less than twenty feet from Brad’s position. Brad dropped to his side and
leveled his rifle, firing several shots, eventually striking the creature
through the side of its chest and crippling it. Another primal got to the plank
and attempted to jump the crippled primal; it overshot the plank and hit the
sheetrock, crashing through and falling below.

Brad grabbed his pack and swung it
out of the vent hole and to the roof above. He took another look back and saw
the primals scrambling, trying to get into the space. Brad again eased his
shoulders through the vent hole, then turned his body so that he was in a
sitting position with his chest facing the building. He stretched his arms and
grabbed the edge of the roof.  Pulling with his arms while his feet
searched for traction, he slowly worked himself out of the vent opening and
onto the roof.  Quickly he rolled onto the roof and lay on his back just
above the opening. He lay motionless, remaining as quiet as possible.

He could hear them below fighting
and struggling to get into the dead space, then heard them at the vent hole.
One stuck its head outside and moaned before leaping out. Brad heard the thing
impact the ground with a thud, followed by several others. They didn’t seem to
know that he was on the roof. One after another, Brad heard them gain entry to
the dead space and rush to lunge out of the opening. He didn’t know how long it
went on. He was afraid to move, even enough to look at his watch.

As their numbers outside grew,
their attention shifted. Brad heard them running, screaming in all directions,
searching for him. Making very slow and deliberate motions, Brad turned to his
side and tried to put his ear to the roof. He could hear nothing; the space
sounded empty. Confident they were no longer below him, Brad rolled back to his
belly and slowly crawled towards the center of the building. He spotted a
cluster of air-conditioning units stacked side by side. Brad made his way
towards them and pulled himself up onto the raised platform they rested
upon. 

Finally feeling safe, he collapsed
face down in exhaustion. He rolled to his back and looked up at the blue sky.
His only reprieve was that it appeared the weather had finally broken; the
bright sun warmed his face. Brad scooted back into a sitting position, removed
his glove and scooped a handful of the fresh snow into his mouth. He knew that
eating snow would lower his body temperature, but at the moment he didn’t care.
Brad pulled his knees into his chest and focused to control his breathing,
forcing himself to relax.

“Pssshhhhhh … Brad—psshhh …
Brad,”
he heard through his headset.

“Sean? Sean, is that you? I can
barely hear you, it’s all garbled.”

“Pshhhhhh ... get out.”

“Where are you? I’m on the roof.”

“Pshhhhhhhhh.”

“Chief, the radio isn’t working, I
can’t hear you,” Brad said, trying to stand to improve the signal. “Chief?” He
pulled the receiver from his pocket and pushed the black button below the small
display. The low battery indicator was flashing. Brad looked at the back. “Of
course I don’t have batteries for this shit.”

Brad flipped the switch, turning
off the radio. “I’ll try later,” he said to himself before stuffing the radio
set into his backpack. Brad strapped the pack back on and slowly got to his
feet. He walked cautiously to the edge of the building, towards the main street
side. He looked out over the edge, careful to keep his body low and concealed.
He could see the coffee shop. The storefront window was shattered and the door
broken in.

The windows in the small apartment
above the coffee shop were now broken, their curtains blowing in the wind. He
could find no trace of Sean. He must have made it back to the overlook. Brad
pulled out the small spotting scope that he’d used a day earlier to scout the
town. He looked down the main street and towards the far off hill top he had
lain on with Sean. There was no sign of anything, no signal, no movement other
than the primals on the streets below. Brad carefully moved back to his hide in
the air-conditioning units and took a seat on the raised platform.

“It really was a stupid plan.” He
shook his head and pulled his bag open. It was stuffed with the medical
supplies. He dug his hand around the bag until he found what he was searching
for. He pulled the peanut butter from the bag. “At least I still have you,
peanut butter,” he said to himself smiling, almost giddy with despair. “So what
now? What do you think we should do?” Brad looked at the child’s face on the
jar. “What? You think I should quit? Well screw you, peanut butter, and all
this time I thought we were friends,” he said, scooping a heaping fingerful of
peanut butter into his mouth. Brad reached into his pack and pulled out a
bottle of water, twisted off the cap and took a long drink before leaning back
against the AC units. “I guess I have to make it out of this shithole town on
my own.” He sighed heavily, then put his head back and closed his eyes. “I
never liked the people here anyhow, always yelling at me and trying to kill me.
I sure as hell won’t get out in the daylight. I’m going to have to wait until
dark. Going to be harder though without Sean’s rifle.”

Brad got to his feet and pulled
himself onto one of the AC units and searched the area. Behind him at the end
of the alley looked to be a residential area, maybe a block deep; beyond that
was the forest. The other side was the main street with blocks of buildings
behind it.

“Won’t make it down Main Street.
I’m gonna have to cut through those backyards.” He climbed back down from the
AC unit and pulled his blankets from his pack. “Well peanut butter, I think we
should try and get some rest before we move out,” Brad said as he stuffed the
jar back into his pack.

16.

Brad lay on the edge of the roof as
he watched the sun go down. His assault pack and shotgun were strapped to his
back and his M4 was clipped to his chest. He was on the opposite side of the
building, away from the main street and looking down into the alley. Earlier
Brad had walked the entire roof looking for a safe way down. He had come up
empty.

The roof was at least fifteen feet
off the ground. Because it was a one-story building, he found no fire escapes.
The closest thing to it was a set of flimsy downspouts on a corner near the
alley.  The alley ran from the main street to the rear of the building
where there was another large parking lot. Brad could tell that tents had been
erected there at one time, even though all that was left of the campsite was
torn fabric, collapsed structures, and pedestrian barriers.

The rear parking lot of the clinic
must have been tagged as a casualty collection site. A place to take the
wounded for triage. Brad spotted a number of ambulances staggered around the
rear lot, now buried in the snow drifts. A pair of G-Wagons, armored G-Class Mercedes,
the Canadian variant of a Humvee, sat at the parking lot entrance, weapons
still mounted on the roof. Brad was tempted to make a break for one and drive
it away. He knew from experience that the thing probably wouldn’t start, a dead
battery after spending all of this time outside in the elements and in the
sub-freezing temperatures.

Brad tried to reach Sean on the
radio several times during the day with no success. He could find no sign of
the primals that had pursued him from the building earlier.
Hopefully they
gave up and returned to the market,
he hoped. Brad watched the last slivers
of daylight disappear. Even with the sun gone, he still had decent vision in
the clear dusk sky. He again looked left and right, using a search pattern,
moving from the closest in to the farthest away. Still no signs of the enemy.
“Well, it’s now or never,” he said to himself.

He crawled as close to the edge as
possible and grabbed the edge of the roof while slowly lowering his legs off
the side. Then reaching hand over hand, he grabbed onto the drain pipe and
quickly shimmied towards the ground. Once he felt it was a safe distance, he
pushed off from the pipe and hit the pavement with a
plop
. Quickly he
moved for cover, hiding between a set of dumpsters. After listening carefully
for a moment, Brad slid along the wall until he reached the corner of the alley
facing the rear of the building. It was growing darker and he was able to
conceal himself in the shadows of the buildings. He pulled his night vision
down and turned on the optics. He could easily see the casualty collection
area. That would be his first goal. He refused to plan a trip back to the
cabin. He told himself not to think so far ahead; he would move in small
calculated steps tonight. Every step would only be as far as the situation
determined.

He didn’t want to get ahead of
himself and sacrifice his security for movement. As long as he was safely
concealed, he would be satisfied with his progress. He had to assume they were
around every corner. Without Sean in over watch he would move accordingly.
Around the corner and dead ahead was a large panel truck with a Red Cross
symbol on the side. Brad mentally planned all of his actions then quietly
stepped off, moving as quietly as possible until he reached the panel truck.

Again he stopped, checking security
on all sides, looking for movement and listening for sounds. He plotted his
next move. Something close, an object he could hide in or behind, something he
could make it to quickly, and a median place he could fall back to if he
spotted danger. Taking his time again he stepped off, moving silently, hiding
in the shadows. He stopped often, refusing to feel rushed. He moved alongside a
collapsed tent, then crawled into the fabric and laid still, making sure nothing
had detected his movement.

Brad was planning the next leg when
he saw a group of them. They were moving in a staggered cluster, headed in his
direction. Too many to fight. He felt for the fabric of the tent and cautiously
rolled underneath it, trying to control his breathing, trying to remain silent.
He could hear them now; they were close. He pressed his head close to the
ground so he could see them as they walked by. Their feet plodded heavily with
the pavement. Some wore remnants of shoes, others were bare footed, but they
didn’t seem to be bothered by it. They all walked with the same gait, moving
past him and back towards the clinic.

Brad looked into the tent. The roof
had come down from the heavy snow but there was still a few feet of clearance. The
smell of death was all around him. He pushed back the feelings and moved on. He
found there was room for him to crawl through to the other side. Brad made his
way underneath some sort of table. The further he got under it, the more room
he found to maneuver. Now fully inside the concealment of the tent, he began to
drive forward, trying to make it to the far side. He could still hear the
primals milling around behind him, and he wanted to create separation.

As he crawled on his belly an inch at
a time, he ran into an obstacle. He reached out with a gloved hand, pulling at
the fabric, trying to find a way around.  Baggage? Luggage, packaged
materials; his path was blocked. He needed to try and get over the
obstructions. He reached out and pulled himself over the pile, keeping his body
low and trying to avoid contact with the tent fabric hanging just above his
body. In close proximity to everything his NVGs had become useless. He couldn’t
focus on anything. 

He relied on touch and his senses
to guide him through the tent. He reached out, again searching for a handhold,
then quickly snatched his hand back. His heart racing, he was sure he
recognized the sensation that shot through his body, the recognition of what he
had grabbed. He tried to remain calm, fighting off the panic. He could hear
them outside, snarling at each other, reminding him of their presence. He
couldn’t go back.

Cautiously Brad again stretched out
an arm. He opened his hand and patted with his palm, then cringed. He froze,
not wanting to continue, his hand rested on a human face. He could feel the
frozen nose and lips. Now focused on his location, he had to use everything in
him to control his emotions. He probed with his other arm, pressing beneath
him, and his fear was realized. Lifting his head and trying to look around him
he nearly convulsed, wanting to vomit. He forced back the fear. He was lying on
a mass of frozen bodies.

Most of them had been contained in
body bags, some only in sheets. As he got closer to the far side of the tent
they were in nothing more than hospital gowns. He had unknowingly crawled into
a mortuary tent. He pushed his shemagh tightly over his face and bit down until
his lips bled, using the pain to distract himself from his emotions. Slowly he
regained his composure, feeling his panic subside. Now that he knew where he
was, the smell mentally became worse. Every movement became a horrifying
burden. He suddenly could feel everything, every bump below him, every knee,
head, or elbow he came in contact with.

He clenched his eyes tightly closed
and chewed the shemagh, fighting off the urge to vomit until he had made his
way through the corpse pile and to the far side of the tent. He poked his head
under the far side. He made a quick sweep, looking all around, and suddenly
disregarded his plan and his safety. He bolted away from the tent, running just
a short distance before stopping near an ambulance with its rear door open.
Brad pushed his back against it. He looked back towards the tent where he could
still see the primals on the far side loitering near the pharmacy; fortunately
they had not spotted him.

Brad dropped to the ground and
rolled under the ambulance, low crawling to the other side. He was almost clear
of the parking lot. He could see the street and the row of houses now. Brad
rolled from under the ambulance and crawled close to its flattened front tire.
He lay there listening, straining to hear sounds of danger before moving on. He
quietly lifted himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the tire. He
was ready to lift himself to his feet when he saw something move. It was coming
from the street. Slowly the object became more defined in his night vision as
it drew closer.

As it shambled along, he saw that
this one had a bad knee. It moved slower than the others. Maybe that’s why it
was alone. Brad watched it move; it was on a course to pass Brad, presumably
aiming to join the others near the tent. Brad held Sean’s MKII in his hand.
Slowly he moved his hand to his lap and tried to relax his grip. He knew he was
invisible in the darkness, but he had to remain silent and control his
breathing if he didn’t want to give away his position. He sat motionless,
keeping his eyes focused on the gimped primal.

It moved along at a slow, easy
pace, stepping forward with its strong leg then dragging the other one ahead.
It continued that motion, looking straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to Brad.
It moved to within eight feet of him. Brad was sure it would continue on, past
the ambulance and out of sight, but suddenly it stopped. It took its one
good-legged step then paused before allowing the bad leg to be dragged forward.
It froze in that stance. Brad watched it uneasily, waiting for it to make a
move. The primal’s chin raised and it began to sniff the air like a dog.

He expected to be frozen with fear,
but he wasn’t. He sat next to the tire watching the thing move about, sniffing,
hunting for its prey. Brad watched as it turned its head and looked in his
direction. It looked down, staring right at him. It knew something was there,
but it still wasn’t sure. It pulled its bad leg forward, then twisted and took
a step in Brad’s direction, leaning into the darkness, searching, probing with
its nose, licking the air, trying to see what was out there.

Brad slowly raised the pistol from
his lap and activated the laser. He squeezed the grip and put the green dot
just under the thing’s chin and pulled the trigger twice.
Pop, pop.
The
primal froze, resting back on its gimped leg. Brad could see that he had hit it
just under the chin and again above its nose. The primal swayed to the left and
right before it fell to the ground with a thud. The pistol was a lot louder
than Brad had remembered. It seemed to shatter the silence. He was sure the
remaining mob would come running at him, but they didn’t. Brad sat silently,
looking at the primal he had just put down.

He sensed more movement in his
goggles. More of them coming from across the street headed in his direction. He
had to go. Brad crawled away on all fours, moving as quickly as he could while
remaining silent. He reached the G-Wagon at the entrance to the parking lot and
got to his feet. He ducked low and looked back towards the ambulance. The
primals had spotted the dead gimp. They were looking around, sniffing at the
air.
They recognized their dead
, Brad thought.

One of them reached down to touch
the dead primal. He stood back up again, searching. Brad had to move, he needed
to get away. Ducking low he kept the G-Wagon between him and the primals and
entered the street. He made a quick dash onto a snow-covered lawn. Tripping
over something, he fell, landing heavily in the snow. Brad lay silently, not
wanting to move and make any more noise. He cautiously rolled to his side and
looked back towards the ambulance again. More of them had gathered around the
dead primal.

“What the fuck is going on?” Brad
whispered to himself, remembering Sean’s words from last night: They were no
longer acting dumb. Brad began to low crawl through the snow towards a house
skirted with thick bushes, just as the first of the moans and primal screams
began. He moved in close to the house. Pulling himself under the thick
vegetation, he stopped and turned. He could see the primals spreading out now,
screaming and searching for him. He had to keep moving. Brad turned towards the
home and continued to crawl following the wall of the house.

The home had a small basement
window. Brad looked down but was unable to see in. He looked behind him. More
primals had joined the mass around the ambulance. He didn’t have a choice. He
pulled his knife and, using the handle, smacked the glass. It broke and fell
into the house. Brad took another look back before pulling himself through the
window. He tumbled in head first and fell hard to the floor below.

When he fell, his goggles popped up
and off of his head. He quickly struggled to right them just as he heard a
creak on the floor above. He knew he had to act fast and eliminate the threat.
He undid his hip strap and gripped the tomahawk in his left hand, keeping the
pistol in his right. He stood, visually scanning the room. It was a rough,
unfinished basement, more of a cellar if anything. He saw the wooden steps in
the corner leading up; the door at the top was open.

He heard more footsteps above.
There was for sure one of them, maybe two. Brad moved towards them. He needed
to take them out before they could sound an alarm. He reached the steps and had
begun walking up on the balls of his feet when he saw the door pull back. Brad
leaned his right shoulder against the wall and raised his extended arm,
pointing the pistol. The primal came around the corner, its head at the length
of its neck exploring the darkness. Surprise was still on Brad’s side.

The soldier didn’t wait. He fired
rapidly.
Pop, pop, pop
as he ran up the stairs, closing the distance.
The first round went wide, but the other two were true. The primal’s head
bucked back and it tumbled down the stairs towards him. Brad used his left hand
with the ‘hawk to hook the creature and throw it by him as he continued to rush
up the stairs. He burst through the doorway and into the kitchen, nearly
colliding with an overweight woman, her shirt torn and barely hanging from her
torso. She looked about, trying to find him in the darkness. Brad leveled the
pistol and fired again.
Pop, Pop.