Machines of the Dead

Chapter 8

The next day, Kyle Chambers, the Guard Commander and a former army ranger, prepared Jack for his mission, showing him the ins and outs of rope climbing. Later in the day, he went over the weapon he would be taking with him: an M4 carbine machine gun. Being an avid hunter and having fired a number of different weapons, Jack became quickly accustomed to the gun. Chambers also went over the finer points of killing a zombie: destroy the brain, or destroy the bots, both of which Jack already knew.

“This is a grappling gun,” Chambers said, going over the final piece of Jack’s equipment. “It uses compressed air and is virtually silent, like firing a BB gun. You’ve got a cylinder attached, holding 100 feet of rope at 9 m illimeter thickness. It looks thin, but it’s plenty strong, capable of holding up to three times your weight, so don’t worry about it snapping or anything.”

“Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.”

“Yes, it is.”

The man went on, showing him how to aim the device. Jack practiced firing the weapon in the stairwell, trying to get the hook between the flights of stairs to attach onto the upper flight. By the tenth try, he felt comfortable.

Next, Jack was shown how to wear the climbing harness and the proper way to climb a wall. There were a lot of complex parts and things to do, but all in all, he got it.

Three days later, Jack was led to the double doors leading to the surface. Chambers had escorted him, giving him one more piece of advice. “The undead are attracted to noise, so be as quiet as possible. They’re slow as shit, most of them anyway, and are pretty easy to handle, but in packs they’re dangerous. Don’t try taking on a bunch; just run. They have no fear and will attack like they have nothing to lose.” The man paused, looked Jack in the eyes, then added, “It’s good what you’re doing, Jack. Dangerous, but I admire it. I’d go with you if Reynolds would let me.”

“Thank you, Kyle. I’ll be fine.”

“Good luck, Jack. And when you’re ready to come back, we’ll see you on the camera and send someone up.” Chambers pointed up to where a pipe was jutting out from the building. Inside, Jack saw a red lens gleaming in the light. The steel doors closed and Jack was alone in the alley.

On his person, Jack had the M4 machine gun, a knife, a flashlight, the grappling gun, three bottles of water and a few MRE’s-meals ready to eat, which were self-contained individual field rations for use during combat or in areas where food could not be attained.

Looking up, Jack saw the window he was told about, a window that led to the supply closet on the sixth floor. It was about sixty feet up, and the only window on that side of the building below one hundred feet. Its design was according to NYC building codes at the time, making the alley perfect for one of the bunker’s entrances.

Jack readied the grappling hook gun, aimed at the window, and fired. The device had virtually no kick and was a little louder than the twang from a crossbow. The three-pronged grappling hook shot upward and collided with the window. The glass shattered, filling the air with racket. Jack winced, then cringed, as the grappling hook bounced off the window’s ledge and was coming back toward him. He jumped out of the way as shards of glass cascaded to the ground, followed by the hook.

Damn it.

He began reloading the hook, leaving the line on the ground, when the steel gate at the end of the alley began to make noise. Shit, the dead were clawing at it, the noise of broken glass attracting their attention. Jack felt his legs go weak, but then he remembered Chambers telling him the alley was safe, that the gate was reinforced and would hold anything back short of a tank ramming it. Still the sounds of the dead pushing and clawing at the steel made him anxious.

This was going to be more difficult than he thought. He could go back to the bunker and take the sewer entrance route. He had the map, but the sewers led to manholes in the middle of the streets. He would have to run from the one in front of his building, as long as a vehicle wasn’t parked over it, to the building itself, and he had no idea how many undead were walking around there or if the doors to the place were even unlocked. He had left his keys in his apartment, and if the doors were missing, the glass blown out, or the lobby was filled with the undead, he’d be screwed. No, staying the course he was on, was his best option.

Aiming the grappling gun at the window again, he let a breath out, concentrated, and fired. This time the hook went into the open window. Placing the gun down, he began to pull the rope slowly, until the hook caught onto something. He tugged on the line a few times, making sure the hooks were secure and hadn’t attached themselves to something easily moveable, like a lamp or mop bucket. Next, he reached up and grabbed onto the rope, lifting his feet off the ground. He waited a moment. The rope still felt strong; the hooks were definitely caught on something solid, heavy. Standing back on the ground, he studied the rope. It was so thin. What if it broke and he fell, breaking his bones? Would the doc load him up with bots, making him like new again? The man had done it once before. The thought of getting injured and having the bots there, back in the bunker to aid him, actually made him feel better about the whole situation.

Jack ran the rope through his harness like Chambers had shown him, tying the correct knots, slipping the line through the belay, and attaching the ascenders. With the help of the belay, Jack didn’t have to worry about tiring or falling back to the ground; the device would keep him in place, making it easier to rest or use his hands. The tricky part was the extra cord that looped around his right foot. Using one ascender to aid him in climbing, there was another cord, looped at the end for his foot that he would use to push off from so that it wasn’t all arms and upper body strength. With that done, leaving the grappling gun on the ground, Jack began his ascent.

As he climbed the wall, ascending above the height of the gate, Jack could see out onto the street. There were a few undead walking by, in and around the vehicles, or on the sidewalks, but a small mob had formed at the alley’s entrance, like a concert crowd waiting for the arena to open. More and more zombies were walking into the mass, enlarging it. Except for the rattling of the gate, the city was too quiet. A gentle breeze blew, filled with the stench of garbage and decaying food.

About halfway to the window, Jack thought he heard humming, like the sound of a far away air-conditioner. Looking out over the crowd, he realized it was coming from them. The sound was so disturbing Jack thought about cutting his venture short. He waited a moment, then decided to move on. He couldn’t turn back at the slightest horror. There were sure to be plenty and he was relatively safe, at least in the alley, though he didn’t like the looks of the amassing crowd, and hoped the gate would hold.

Jack continued to climb, and soon enough, he found himself just below the sixth floor, supply closet window. As with every time he stopped, Jack secured his position with the belay, and waited there for a moment, catching his breath.

Ready for the final ascent, Jack reached up. He grabbed onto the ledge and began pulling himself up, coming face to face with Jerry Standt, the building’s superintendent, and now a member of the undead.

The zombie reached forward, mouth open ready to chomp. Jack let go of the ledge and fell, feeling as if his life was over, until he jerked to a stop, the belay doing its job. He was now just below the window again. The undead super was leaning out, reaching for him. Jack hurried, trying to un-strap the machine gun from his shoulder, but in his haste, dropped it. The weapon fell, but he managed to catch the strap on his boot. Breathing a sigh of relief, he felt the zombie’s fingers touching his head. Using the wall to brace himself, Jack placed both feet against the building, securing himself and the gun. He grabbed a hold of the former super’s right arm and pulled as hard as he could.

The zombie came partially from the window, its face the same, mouth gnashing and showing no sign it cared about its predicament. It only wanted Jack’s flesh.

Jack continued to pull the body of the undead halfway out the window, but it was stuck on something. The zombie’s face was less than a foot from Jack’s, its breath making him want to gag. He kept pulling, yanking with all he had. Something popped, and then the arm came free, the ripping of cloth and sinew echoing in Jack’s ears. Disgusted by the sight, Jack quickly let go of the limb. Looking up, he saw that the zombie was leaning farther out the window, its lower half free from what it had been caught on. He reached up, grabbing the former super by the back of his collar and pulled, kicking away from the wall as he did so, adding his entire body’s weight behind the maneuver.

The undead’s body fell from the window, Jack helping it along as he moved to the side as best he could, but the thing latched onto him, wrapping its one arm around his neck, like a distressed child holding onto its mother. Embraced in a hug, the undead brought its mouth to Jack’s throat. He got a hand up quickly, pushing his palm against the thing’s chin, keeping its mouth shut and jaws away. With his other hand, Jack reached for his knife. He withdrew the weapon from its sheath, gripped it tightly and shoved it into the zombie’s neck, just under its chin. The knife went in easily, but the corpse kept fighting. Shit, the blade wasn’t long enough. He pulled the knife out, then shoved it into the thing’s right eye socket-the eyeball bursting-pushing it in up to the hilt. The zombie shuddered, then released its grip and fell to the ground, landing a few feet from the M4, which at some point had slipped off his boot. Jack thought about going back down for it, but the barrel was bent at a 90-degree angle, now useless.

All that remained of his weapons were his gore-covered knife and the T aser, which only had three re-loads.

Jack pulled himself into the window, crawled into the supply closet and sat against the wall, breathing heavily and severely disappointed. That was only one zombie and look what happened, but he had made it into the building.

Sitting there, Jack took one of the water bottles from his pack and gulped half of its contents. His mouth was exceedingly dry. He would have to conserve from now on, not knowing how long he would be gone from the bunker, or if he’d find any suitable drinking-water in the building. If it wasn’t bottled, he wasn’t ingesting it.

Replacing the bottle to his pack, Jack rested a moment longer. The supply closet was dark, the only light coming from the window. He saw shelves lining the walls to either side, but half the room was shrouded in gloom. Jack made his way over to the door, felt for the light switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened. He tried the switch again with the same results. Either the electricity was off, or the super hadn’t gotten around to changing the bulb.

Taking out his flashlight, a Maglite mini, Jack surveyed the room. On the shelves were cleaners, mop heads, boxes, and leather workmen’s gloves, nothing useful. In the corner next to him were two mops with wooden handles. Wherever the bucket was, it wasn’t in the closet. Most buildings used the basements to store supplies, but for some reason, this building had an additional supply closet on the sixth floor.

Something bumped the door, startling Jack. Then he heard scratching, the same kind of scratching he heard when his wife was pawing at the bedroom door. The noise from the window breaking must have alerted a member of the undead. Hopefully, it was only one. What if there were more? A hallway full? H is mission would be over. His journey was looking more and more perilous, and more and more like he should turn around and go back underground.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t go back yet, n ot without first checking for survivors. And if anyone was alive, it had to be Zaun. That guy was a paranoid dude, and a fighting machine. Jack smiled, thinking about his friend, almost forgetting about the zombie outside the door. He had to work his way at least, to the 23rd floor, Zaun’s floor, and the floor he and Jess had lived on.

Grabbing one of the mops, Jack broke off the mop-end. From there he took out his knife and began whittling away at the splintered end. When he was finished, he had a crudely made spear; perfect for keeping a zombie at bay, or spearing it in the head.

Taking the other mop, he loosened the metal bracket that held the mop-head on, then broke the stick in half. Now Jack had a bludgeoning weapon; a misshapen battle mace, and something he could use to bash in the heads of the undead. It wasn’t ideal, but it looked like it would do the job.

With the spear tucked between his back and the pack, and the mace in hand, Jack took a deep breath and opened the door.