Desolation (25 page)

 

“I’m sorry…” Witt murmured, “But now is a good of a time as
any to go, no?”

 

Andrew couldn’t agree more; the sooner they were away from
Witt’s company and in the air, the better.
37

T
he apartment building’s dark staircase was littered with trash
and the iron handrails were covered with rust. Water stained the carpet
and the air reeked of mold.

Witt led the group down to the bottom of the staircase, carefully
scanning the area with his flashlight and shotgun. A chewed-up toothpick
hung out of the corner of his mouth and three pistols were stuck under
his belt. Drawing a fresh loaded gun was faster than reloading.

Andrew followed behind Witt, scanning with his pistol and a
much smaller flashlight.

Jerri followed in the back, a tactical position she was growing
rather tired of. She kept hearing noises behind her and spun around only
to see darkness. It gave her the creeps; the whole building did.

At the bottom of the staircase Witt kicked a rusty door open that
was labeled ‘FIRE EXIT ONLY – ALARM WILL SOUND’.
No alarms sounded but a flock of pigeons took flight from the
ground outside the door.

 

Sunlight flooded the stairwell and made them squint as their eyes
slowly adjusted. The doorway led to the alleyway behind the building.
“We’ll cut through the back alleyways as much as we can,” Witt
said as he turned off his flashlight. “The base is only a few blocks away.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Jerri said.
Witt laughed.

“It will feel like miles… trust me… out here it is
very
hostile
territory.” He stopped laughing and looked over at Andrew and Jerri.
“Whatever you do… don’t go into
any
of the buildings, avoid dark places,
and stay off of the dirt and sand. We can trick humans, but the zombies
don’t care how many guns we’re packing. Stay close and don’t talk to
anybody. You both understand?”

Jerri and Andrew nodded as Witt turned his flashlight off and slid
it into his pocket.

 

Andrew did the same.

 

As they walked down the alley, they stared at each shuttered
building they passed.

Most of the buildings were ramshackle and had been gutted by
flames. Many of the doors had been sealed shut by plywood and still had
old orange signs stapled onto them from the pandemic’s onset.

A few of the buildings were wide-open and revealed darkened
hallways and hidden crevices. Muddy footprints and tattered pieces of
clothing led into the dark recesses of the tombs.

They didn’t have to guess what would be waiting for them if they
chose to venture inside.

Skeletal remains littered the alley and were strewn amongst heaps
of trash sealed inside red biohazard bags. The stench was beyond
description.

They walked past one man who was busy digging in a mound of
garbage, picking through the torn biohazard sacks. He was scrawny,
covered in sores, and had long greasy hair that hung past his shoulders.
He turned his sunburned face towards the group as they walked past,
mouth agape.

The man’s eyes lingered on Jerri and then grew wide at the sight
of the baby she was holding.

 

Jerri felt uncomfortable and quickly covered the baby with the
shawl, hiding the innocent child away from the man’s crazy eyes.
Witt froze and chewed on his toothpick, casually pointing his
shotgun towards the man.

The weaponless man looked at Witt and then held up his dirty
hands, shaking his head weakly. He looked away from the group and
started to dig deeper into the trash, scavenging whatever he could find.

Witt, sensing that the man wasn’t a threat, propped his shotgun
back onto his shoulder and kept walking down the alley as he
methodically moved his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the
other with his tongue.

Andrew and Jerri followed, making sure to keep a good distance
from the trash digger.

 

As they reached the end of the alley and approached a street, Witt
held up a hand and signaled the group to stop.

 

Andrew and Jerri froze and peered over Witt’s shoulder, staring
at the street with intense curiosity.

A few burnt vehicles sat on the street, stripped bare. Small groups
of haggard individuals sat huddled in front of the various shattered
storefronts, either staring into nothingness or exchanging meaningless
small talk. Everybody made sure to stay away from the buildings that had
their doors open and everybody kept their voices down.

A tall man pushed a wobbling shopping cart full of jugs of dirty
water down the center of the street, steering the cart around the potholes
that littered the pavement. He was wearing a tattered overcoat and had a
small caliber rifle slung over his shoulder.

“This is horrible looking,” Jerri muttered, shaking her head. It
made the camp look divine by comparison.

 

“And you think Canada’s streets look any better?” Andrew asked
rather harshly.

 

Before Jerri could respond, Witt spoke.

“This is everyday life out here,” he said. “You either adapt or you
die. Come on. Let’s walk,” he said as he pointed over at another darkened
alleyway across the street.

A teenage boy bolted from around the corner, slunk around Witt,
brushed past Jerri, and bumped against Andrew.

“Hey!” Andrew shouted, stumbling backwards. “Watch where
you’re going, you little shit!” He glanced down and noticed that the small
flashlight he once had stuck inside his pocket was gone.

Andrew quickly turned and aimed his pistol towards the boy but
was too late; the boy had already disappeared around a corner.
Witt quickly reached over and placed a hand on Andrew’s gun,
lowering it.

 

Andrew looked over at him, shocked.

 

“Gunshots draw them out, especially in tight alleyways like this.
Shoot only when you have too,” Witt whispered. “It’s just a flashlight.”
Andrew nodded, face red with anger. He wasn’t used to being
told what to do.

 

Witt turned and started to walk across the street.

 

The people gathered around the sidewalk immediately stopped
talking and stared at the stranger packing the shotgun.

 

The man pushing the shopping cart froze and placed one hand
on his slung rifle, a friendly reminder not to fuck with him.

 

Andrew and Jerri walked close behind Witt, carefully scanning the
crowd while Jacob continued to sleep.

 

Witt looked over at the man pushing the shopping cart and
nodded.

 

The tall man nodded back, cordial yet cautious.

Just as soon as Witt finished crossing the street and reached the
alley, two men emerged from behind a rusty dumpster. Each of the men
held rifles.

One of the men, an elderly black man with gray hair wearing a
Hard Rock Cafe shirt and tattered jeans, pointed his weapon at Witt’s
head.

The other man, a fat white kid, no older than sixteen, wearing
overalls with no shirt and no shoes, pointed his gun at Andrew.
Witt quickly leveled his shotgun at the black man and stared at
him calmly.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Witt finally said.
The black man laughed.

“Funny,” the man said, “three white motherfuckers walking up in
my place with guns seems like trouble to old Omar.”

 

The people the street slowly got up and shuffled away from the
scene, wanting no part of the ensuing altercation.

Witt shook his head and kept chewing on his toothpick.
“We’ll take another route,” Witt said. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

The heavyset white kid stepped forward, pressing the rifle barrel
against Andrew’s chest.

 

Andrew didn’t lower his pistol and kept it centered on the kid.
“It’s too late for that,” the white kid snorted. “Now you’ll have to
pay a toll.”

“The toll?” Andrew asked.
Omar grinned.

“Yeah,” Omar cackled. “How about you give us everything
you’re packing and then we’ll allow you to go find another alleyway.
Otherwise we’ll shoot you and just take it all anyway.”

Witt slowly rolled his toothpick over to opposite side of his
mouth, mulling over the offer. He kept his shotgun leveled.
“Is there room for negotiation?” Witt asked calmly.
Omar stepped forward and pressed his barrel against Witt’s
throat. The man smelled like body odor and pee.

 

“What do you think motherfucker?” Omar asked in a sharp tone.
“Drop your weapon ‘fore I drop you!”

 

Witt sighed and spat his toothpick onto the ground.

Before Witt could think of a way to take both men down, the
heavyset white kid stepped towards Jerri and reached towards the bundled
Jacob.

“What do you got hiding in there?” the boy asked. He snatched
Jacob’s shawl and pulled it aside, revealing the baby’s ashen corpse and
sunken eyes.

“Leave him alone!” Jerri shouted as she pulled Jacob away from
the boy.

 

Jacob’s limp body dangled upside down out of her arms and a
plume of putrid gas expunged from the baby’s gaping mouth.
The heavyset boy pissed his pants and screamed as he stumbled
backwards, falling into a pile of red biohazard bags.

 

“The fuck you goin’ on about?” Omar asked in an aggravated
tone as he looked at the ghostly-pale boy.

 

The boy stammered and stuttered as he lowered his gun and
pointed a fat finger up at Jacob’s corpse.

Jerri looked down at the frightened boy with confusion. Clearly
the boy wasn’t stable. She quickly covered Jacob with the shawl and
tucked the baby against her chest protectively.

Omar stared at Jacob with disbelief.

“Y-you’s some crazy fuckers… What the fuck is wrong with
you…?” he asked in a shaky voice. “Y-y-you did that to a kid?! You’s
some sick motherfuckers… You in that cult shit aren’t you?”

Witt’s eyes lit up.

“That’s right. We needed his blood. So now you know the kind
of sick shit we’ll do to you if you don’t get out of our way,” Witt said in a
growl. He pushed Omar’s shaky rifle aside and walked forward down the
alleyway.

Andrew and Jerri followed, looking over at the two frightened
men nervously.

 

Omar backed against the brick wall and let the group pass,
lowering his weapon.

 

The heavyset white boy looked up at him, body trembling. He
stared at Omar and asked a question with his eyes.

 

Omar quickly shook his head.

 

“No sir,” Omar said. “I don’t need none of that hoodoo shit
followin’ me round. There’ll be other fish to catch.”

As Witt traversed deeper into the alley and weaved around the
mounds of red plastic bags and shoved aside stacks of cardboard boxes
and old wooden pallets, Andrew and Jerri followed close behind.

“What was all of that about?” Jerri finally asked.
“They were crazy,” Witt said flatly. “That’s all.”
“You played it close,” Andrew said.
Witt nodded.

“The best fights are the ones you win without firing a single
shot,” Witt explained. He grinned. “It almost came to that though. It’s a
cut-throat world out here.”

Jerri was thankful that Jacob was asleep through that ordeal. She
reached a hand under his blanket and tickled his bloated stomach. When
she pulled her hand out from under the blanket she stared at her
fingertips in confusion; they were covered with a thin layer of Jacob’s
skin.

She blinked and sniffed her fingers; they smelled horrible.
Something didn’t feel right, but she brushed it off.

At the end of the alleyway, Witt saw a street half-obscured by an
old rusty dumpster.

 

“Wait here,” Witt said. He slunk past the dumpster and walked
out blindly into the street… right into the center of a graveyard.

The crows that covered the street took frantic flight and revealed
the horrific scene on the asphalt below, cawing as they ascended into the
sky. Skeletal remains lay strewn all across the pavement, littering the street
for miles. Most of the corpses were laden with supplies but many of them
appeared to have been former shamblers. Each of the corpses had been
shot in the head.

It all looked exactly the way he remembered from his last
scouting trip to the base.

 

Witt stared down the sloped road towards the bottom of the
small hill…

The base was a large complex surrounded by a razorwire-topped
fence. The road was the main thoroughfare into the complex and was
congested by multiple tanks, abandoned Tucson police cruisers, and an
armored SWAT van. The gatehouse next to the road had a tattered
American flag waving above it and had the chain-link fence rolled shut,
preventing anybody from easily entering the complex. A long sign above
the gate read ‘Davis–Monthan Air Force Base – East Entry – Welcome to
the Home of the 355
^th
’.

Soldiers were patrolling the catwalk that ran over the entry and
over the gatehouse, taking position in front of the Davis–Monthan sign.
Witt stepped back into the alley and ran his hand along the back
of his head, thinking.

“Well?” Andrew asked.
Witt shook his head.

“We’re going to have to sneak around from the other side and
take them by surprise. They’re keeping a close eye on the main entry,”
Witt said.