Bolt
Cannon let the blade of the knife slip down to the bottom of the link. The interwoven wire formed a harlequin pattern of squares that made up the car park fence. Each strand of wire was enveloped in a weather bleached casing of green plastic. The plastic had mostly rubbed off at the joints where the cable interlaced, and where it hadn’t it was so perished that it dropped off in lumps rather than yield a neat cut under the blade.
Cannon focused on the minutia of his task, the bite of wire against the blade of his knife, the grating of the metal edge as he sawed through the wire. This was not the way he should be treating his knife and he knew it. A sharp knife was an invaluable survival tool and with each swipe he was dulling the blade further.
Still, this was survival, Cannon told himself.
He concentrated on these niggling details rather than let the reality intrude. But every so often he couldn’t avoid it. Time and time again clusters of necrotic fingers would poke through the chain. A dead face with skin saggy and blue-tinged would be pressed against the fence, gnawing at the wire. At these moments Cannon’s gut reaction was to stop weakening the fence that was holding back the mass of animated dead just a finger’s length away.
A dead hand pushed against the wire where Cannon was cutting. The zombie, utterly focused on the human, didn’t notice that it had impaled its palm on Cannon’s knife. It poked its nose between the wire and gnashed its crooked yellow teeth. Its vacant, sunken, unblinking eyes transfixed on its potential meal as it pushed against the fence, struggling to get at him. Even though Cannon had wrapped his shemagh around his face, the smell of the creature’s rotting innards skulked through the fabric. The monster was so close that Cannon could see the whiskers poking through its dead flesh. The zombie pushed against the fence so hard its skin had started to split at the points of contact.
Cannon pulled his knife back. It slurped as it withdrew from the zombie’s soft, bloated flesh. This cadaver was soggy like a sponge. There was a trace of green in the crevices of the creature’s skin. Cannon wondered if maybe it had spent some time at the bottom of a lake.
Cannon knew nothing ate the dead-no dog or crow or cockroach or maggot. Nothing found these toxic corpses a savoury meal to devour. One whiff of their necrotic stench was enough to deter even the hungriest scavenger. The only thing that chewed at them was the weather or machinegun fire. But occasionally you would see a zombie, like this one, that had its own flora or fauna. There would always be the odd walking dead that had dragged half a bush with it but this one had a green algae matted to its cracked fingernails like the scum that clung to the walls of a neglected fish tank.
There was one time when Cannon had seen a bobbleheaded mushroom growing from a zombie’s suit collar. He’d even helped dredge up a zombie from the ocean, drenched in seaweed, and with a barnacle stuck firmly to its temple.
The wire popped as his knife severed the cable. With the extra space the dead man pushed his whole hand through and grabbed at Cannon’s body armour.
Cannon stepped back, but the dead fingers held tight. The zombie snarled behind the fence, ripping chunks out of its own lips as it tried to bite its way through.
Cannon swapped the knife over to his left hand, ripped open the Velcro securing his holster, and pulled out his pistol. He pushed the muzzle against the dead man’s forehead and pulled the trigger. As the shot rang out, the zombie slumped to the ground. Cannon shook off the grip, prizing the last couple of stubborn fingers free with the tip of his knife. The zombie’s body dangled slightly, suspended by the arm snagged in the wire. What was left of its head tipped back and the mush from its cranium sloshed onto the ground.
As soon as it had fallen away a new zombie filled the gap. Unperturbed by the fate of its predecessor, the replacement zombie slipped its ragged fingers through the mesh, mauling the air, desperate to squeeze through.
Cannon holstered his weapon and bent down on one knee. He slipped his knife down to the next link and cursed the damage he was causing to the blade as he hacked through the wire.
“But what about Ali?” Ryan protested.
“He’s obviously capable of looking after himself,” Cahz said. “Have you got the handbrake on yet?”
Cahz was leaning against the bumper, holding the car at a stop. This was the second vehicle he and Ryan had broken into and lined up facing the fence. From his position at the front of the car, Cahz was looking directly at the fenced-out zombies. “They’re getting very excited.”
“There’s got to be something we can do for him,” Ryan complained.
“The best thing we can do is get rescued,” Cahz said. “We get rescued and then we take a nice safe helicopter ride to go pick up your friend. Now hurry up. The natives are getting restless.”
The zombies on the other side of the flimsy wire were shaking it with tremendous force. Cahz guessed the fence had been weakened by the years of weathering, but it looked like the undead in their frenzy might just be able to tear it down themselves.
“I’ve cut away about half the links,” Cannon reported as he rejoined the others. “But I daren’t do any more than that in case they break through.”
“I was just thinking that,” Cahz confessed.
Ryan got out of the driver’s seat and wiped chunks of shattered safety glass from his backside. “Next time I’ll remember to put in the passenger window.”
“You not going to pump up those tyres?” Cannon asked.
“No point,” Ryan said. “I doubt they’ll take any pressure. They’ve been sitting on the rims for god knows how long. The rubber will be cracked and perished.”
“So no chance of getting one of these started and driving out of here?” Cannon asked, a note of hopefulness in his voice.
“Sitting idle like this for years? The battery will be dead for a start. Hell, I was out of town for a week and had to dry the spark plugs on my old Nissan before she’d turn over,” Ryan said. “That’s even if they had fuel.” He nodded at the forced open flap to the tank. “What we haven’t siphoned will have evaporated dry by now.”
“Okay, I get the point,” Cannon snapped.
“You really know fuck all about cars,” Ryan said.
Cannon puffed up his quite considerable chest. “Yeah, well, we’ll see how smug you are next time you’ve got a diaper change. And besides, you’ve left your gun on the passenger seat.”
“Shit,” Ryan cursed, checking the small of his back as he looked at the discarded weapon.
“All right, you two,” Cahz said. “We need to focus on this.” He put a hand on each of his companion’s shoulders. “On my signal, you two whip off the handbrakes and roll the cars at the fence.
I’ll be by the fence thinning them out. By the time you guys catch up to me it should be clear enough to jimmy open that back door and get inside.” Cahz pointed at the back entrance to the shop they were aiming for. “Once we’re inside, Ryan leads the way out. We keep going until we pick up the railway line. It’s four blocks west of here.”
Ryan was slipping the gun into the back of his belt and nodded silently.
“Show me that gun,” Cahz said.
Ryan pulled the gun out, barrel aimed at Cahz.
“Fuckin’ hell!” Cahz battered the muzzle away. “Don’t point it at me.”
“You asked to see it,” Ryan said.
“See it-not get shot by it.” Cahz looked at the side of the weapon. “Just checking the safety’s on; don’t want you blowing your ass cheeks off.”
Ryan frowned and tucked the gun away.
“Once we’re on the line it should make our lives easier. It reduces the directions the W.D.s can come from.” Cahz picked up the crowbar and passed it to Cannon. “I guess you’ll be able to take that door off its hinges without this,” he joked, “but to save time you’d best have it.”
“Want me to carry anything?” Ryan asked.
“Just her.” Cahz pointed at the baby in the makeshift papoose.
Cahz took a sip on the tube from his camel pack. The warm water quenched his thirst but did nothing to shift the sour taste in his mouth. He took a reassuring glance round at the others. Both men were in position, ready to push the first car, Ryan by the handbrake, Cannon at the rear.
Cahz cleared his throat.
“Three, two, one, go!”
Cahz started firing.
Over the shots he could hear Cannon and Ryan grunting as they battled to get the car moving. Seconds later the first car careered into the fence and ploughed through. The fence screeched as the wires buckled and snapped down the fault line. A whole section of mesh popped off from its posts and wrapped around the front of the vehicle. Those zombies pressed in against the wire were hauled off their feet and thrown back, but the mass of dead bodies were too thick for the car to make much headway. The car ground to a halt only a few feet past the fence, leaving a gap twice as wide for the dithering zombies to shamble through.
Cahz kept firing, felling as many as he could and hoping he could stem the flow of zombies trickling past the stalled car.
With a loud crash the second car tore through the other section of fence.
Cahz reloaded, but before he could fire again he heard the bark of Cannon’s support weapon.
Looking round, he could see the second car had also failed to block the alleyway.
Cannon stood with the butt of his machine gun tight against his shoulder, taking well-aimed bursts at the encroaching zombies. With each burst, one, sometimes two, zombies would topple over, but Cahz knew the recoil made the weapon wildly inaccurate even at these short distances.
“Ryan!” he shouted. “Grab the crowbar! Get that door open!”
“What?!” Ryan shouted back, unable to hear Cahz over the gunshots and the screams of his backpack-swaddled daughter.
“The door!” Cahz screamed between shots.
Ryan ran as fast as he could with the child on his back. He skidded to a halt next to Cannon, one hand behind his back awkwardly trying to steady the load. The crowbar was sticking out of a sheath in Cannon’s body armour like a ninja sword. Ryan grabbed it and whipped the crowbar free.
With the last few rounds in his second clip, Cahz floored the zombies between Ryan and the door.
Vaulting over the carpet of dead, Ryan leapt to the door and wedged the end of the crowbar into the narrow crack at the doorjamb.
Cahz loaded his third clip, careful to secure the empty back in its pouch. Although he’d been able to reload from Cannon’s belt of ammunition back in the office, he knew there’d be no chance of a top up, exposed like this in the middle of a horde.
“Get that door!” Cahz ordered.
“I can’t! The wood’s rotten! It keeps splitting!” Ryan called back as he dug the crowbar in again.
“Move!” Cannon bellowed and he swung round, pointing his weapon at Ryan.
“Shit,” Ryan gasped as he dived out of the doorway.
Cannon bounded towards the door as if it wasn’t there. Just a couple of strides away a burst of fire erupted from his gun and he twisted to barge the door full force with his shoulder. Splinters of wood flew from the devastated door and Cannon disappeared through the freshly made opening.
“Go! Go! Go!” Cahz roared.
Ryan vanished into the building, the child on his back screaming.
Cahz bolted after him, making the doorway only seconds before the first zombie. In the dark corridor he could see Ryan’s light shirt through the murk. Cannon was on all fours, still working to get to his feet after the crash through the door.
“Ryan! Go! Lead us out!”
Ryan looked surprised.
“I’ll help Cannon. You take point.” And with that, Cahz found Cannon’s grab handle on the neck of his body armour, wrapped his fingers around it, and pulled. “Come on, soldier. On your feet.”
“Yes sir!” Cannon snapped back out of reflex.
The light streaming through the busted door faded and spluttered. Cahz turned to see the silhouette of a zombie snatching for him.
Cahz caught the creature’s hip with a swift side kick, sending it spinning to the floor. Right behind it came another cadaver, then another, and another, each soaking up more and more of the light.
Still on the ground, Cannon flipped round to sit on his butt. A staccato burst of light and the thunder of shots followed, hammering through the pursuing zombies.
Cahz grabbed his buddy by the bicep and dragged him up.
“Move!” he yelled as he stumbled into the darkness.
Within feet the last usable light from the narrow doorway was eaten up by the musty gloom. Cahz and Cannon lurched into the darkness. A myriad of squeaks echoed from the dispossessed rodents scurrying into the shadows.
Cahz called out, “Ryan?!”
The sound of Ryan’s daughter crying could be heard somewhere up ahead.
“Through here,” came Ryan’s voice.
Cannon flicked on his torch. The slender beam of white light cut only a thin wedge from the darkness. A rat with matted brown fur scampered from the glow back to its nest of tattered linen. The light dimmed and went out.
“Piece of shit!” Cannon griped as he wound the mechanism. As he did the yellow light flickered on and grew brighter.
Cannon scanned the beam around the corridor. The once white tiled floor was awash with rat droppings and garbage. Most things had degraded to a brown pulp but there was still the odd recognisable item, much of which was out of place in the back of a store.
The beam cast over a child’s bike. Cahz stepped over to look at the plastic trike, its bright yellow and reds still visible under a coating of crud. He rested a friendly hand on Cannon’s shoulder and Cannon juddered.
“Whoa. You okay?” Cahz asked.
“Fine,” Cannon snapped, flicking the light from the bike. “We’ve got to move. Where the fuck is Ryan?”
“Up here I think.” Cahz pointed to the T-junction at the end of the corridor.
The sound of shuffling and moans from behind hastened Cahz’s steps. As he drew level with the junction it was easy to tell which way Ryan had turned by the baby’s crying. Ryan was standing rubbing the side of his head a couple of paces down the passageway.
“Which way?” Cahz asked.
“I don’t know,” Ryan confessed over the sobs coming from his backpack.
“Take a guess.”
A grizzly moan and a burst of machinegun fire from behind forced Ryan’s decision.
“This way.” He pointed down the junction.
“Cannon, on point.” Cahz said.
Cannon pushed past, his weapon still smoking. “Sure thang, boss,” he said.
Cannon slung his machine gun and pulled out his pistol. With his arms crossed at the wrist, he marched into the darkness, his torch darting back and forth trying to push back the black.
“He doesn’t sound like a soldier when he talks to you,” Ryan whispered to Cahz.
“He never has,” Cahz whispered back. “Maybe it’s because he’d been out of it before his reactivation. It’s never bothered me. He’s always sound.”
“Yeah, but what’s this ‘boss’ thing?”
“Irony, I guess.” Cahz shrugged. “All my crew use it. I think Private Bates started it. Like I say, I don’t mind it. A lot of standards have slipped, especially among conscripts. But they’re a good crew. A bit irreverent at times, but military protocol is not what it was.”
“I thought you said you both served overseas?” Ryan said.
“We did separate tours, but he’s never said where.”
“And you’ve not been curious?”
“A lot of bad shit happened,” Cahz replied in an even more hushed tone. “A lot of guys had a hard time getting back to the real world. Cannon was one of them. He’d been discharged long before the Rising. When they put him back in a uniform he wouldn’t tell them anything about his previous service. Things were shot to fuck by that point so they couldn’t check. They stuck him with private and left him with me.”
“So you don’t know what his story is then?”
“Never asked,” Cahz answered. “We all got stories.”
Ryan’s nod was lost to the gloom.
The torch light from up ahead died then burst back on.
“Cannon? Everything okay?”
“Look,” Cannon said.
He shone the light at the bottom of the door in front of them. When he switched the torch off, a faint glow of light could be seen.
“Okay,” Cahz said, placing a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “If that’s a way out it’s a way in, too. Ryan, you open the door. Cannon will be left, me right.” He double checked his carbine and side arm. “We break out fast. Dispatch Whisky Deltas only if you have to.” He waited for agreement to manifest in his companion’s eyes. “We get out and into the street as fast as we can. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Okay.” Cahz counted a silent three, two, one, and shouted, “Go!”