Max squinted, the harsh florescent lighting of the police station irritating his eyes. He shifted the weight of the bag on his back from his left shoulder to his right, giving his muscles a small but greatly appreciated respite. He was currently making his way through the police precinct's 911 dispatch center, wading through the mess of overturned desks, scattered paperwork, and the occasional dead body.
The place reeked of the mold and the rot.
It was ironic, really: being summoned to this place by their eye-in-the-sky patron, A. Max had always admired cops, said
"they help people". Ever since he was twelve years old he was dead set on becoming one, no pun intended. When he made his wishes known one day, Haytham just laughed at him—son of a virtual crime family turning to the law? Hilarious!—but Dad had taken it more seriously.
"Knowing a cop would make a lot of things easier, right?" His father joked with him that day.
"I don't think being a bad cop would be that good for me, Dad," he had responded, a smile upon his face. They both shared a good laugh.
Max was sincere though, and his father knew it. So Max was summarily enrolled in the Explorer Program for Law Enforcement—a program that provides kids with the opportunity to learn about what being a cop is all about. He went on ride-a-longs with a few of the different departments at the precinct, always asking questions, though he never did see anything cool like a drug bust or something. He even got into competitive Paintball and Airsoft, dominating at tournaments held at Lassidus's massive football stadium.
"My little brother, the pig."
"My
big brother, the hacker."Max sighed, remnants of the distant past bringing a smile to his face. It was why he knew the layout of this building so well. His dreams were all here.
Well, of course, that was before the world went to hell in a clown car.
It was because he wasn't paying proper attention to his surroundings as he moved forward that he was surprised. In one moment, Max was standing, and the next, he was on his rear. He'd run into something. Something humanoid in shape and likeness.
Max didn't immediately look up at what he'd bumped into. He already knew what it was. He raised the pistol in his hand to fire, aiming and pulling the trigger all in one smooth motion; however, instead of the righteous clamor of gunfire, he was met with a
click-click as the slide locked back.
Empty.
Shit. That wasn't supposed to happen. He'd only counted 13 shots—he was pretty sure he hadn't used the entire mag!
Max looked down just as fast as he'd looked upward, electing to focus on reloading rather than analyze the figure in front of him. Staring and gawking... that's how you end up dead in this world. The humanoid in front of him took a step forward. Still deigning not to look up, the boy stifled a panic attack—he didn't have time for any more hesitation.
Just like getting stalked by a forward in Airsoft he repeated in his mind over and over, ejecting the spent magazine with a twist of the wrist, sending it flying off to the side, grabbing another magazine from his jacket pocket, and slamming it home into the empty slot at the bottom of the handgun—a Glock 19, which was swimmingly similar to the RAP17 "Glock" he used for Paintball. He finished reloading the weapon in a matter of a few seconds, releasing the slider with a tug, taking comfort in the Glock's new heavier weight.
He'd been practicing speed reloading non-stop since this whole infection mess began, and it was paying off. Again.
He finally looked up, about to aim his pistol at this unknown
thing, fully taking in the scene in front of him.
OOC: He just bumped into either Lauren, Briar, or Allison!
Haytham was furiously tapping on his keyboard, issuing adb commands to download files from the local server in their panic room through USB to the mobile device on the desk next to him—a custom satellite phone. He had four huge monitors in front of him: three side to side on the desk and a fourth screen hanging from the wall above, looking down at him. This fourth screen featured a checkerboard of different camera angles from the closed circuit cameras located all throughout their house. Some of the squares had nothing but gray static playing over them—the zombies had gotten to those areas, destroying the cameras within. Others spoke of a specious serenity, scenes still and untouched, as if the undead were not currently tearing through their defenses and pouring into this place.
BANG!"Is it done yet, Theo?!" Max pressed, poking his head out from the ventilation shaft in the side of the wall.
BANG! The whole building seemed to reverberate with the force of the impact as dust shook loose from the ceiling, gliding to the floor in waves.
Haytham didn't look over at his brother, instead focusing on the triad of screens directly in front of him. Over the past few weeks, he'd been trying to break through some sort of "network restriction" that effectively sequestered the networks within the quarantine zone from those without.
It wasn't easy.
Someone was trying to prevent survivors from contacting the world at large. Someone big and powerful, with a huge team of professionals, because Haytham, as good as he believed himself to be, couldn't find a non-transient path around their constraints. They had to be pros, had to be... however, they weren't perfect. Their internet "block" was obviously still a work in progress, for Haytham had managed to find a route through which he could access the open net and draw down some data—though after about half an hour his playmates on the other end shut him down.
Again, whoever these guys were, they were good—but Haytham didn't come out of the encounter empty handed. Within that thirty minute window he didn't go to a forum. Didn't send any emails. Didn't try to get people to believe the things that were going on in Area 2. He didn't have time for that. Instead, he had done what any computer scientist would in his situation: he downloaded Wikipedia. Yes,
downloaded the entirety of Wikipedia, all 10+ glorious gigs of it. More specifically, he snagged a freely accessible dump of their database from their CDN. At the same time, he got a hold of some road and image map data from Google Maps—data on the entire Area 2 quarantine zone. It was this enormous amount of data that he was rushing to stuff in to the satphone a few inches to his side.
They'd be needing it soon.
BANG! BANG!"Theo..." Max began again, but Haytham cut him off.
"Just climb up, Max. Take the green bag and the shotty," he said, referring to the large green satchel that held what remained of their food and bottled water and their last remaining shotgun. "I'll meet you on the roof once this download finishes."
Max wore a conflicted look for a moment before nodding. "Okay Theo, I'll see you upstairs." He disappeared back into the ventilation shaft. Their little panic room was really more like a panic suite—complete with two small bedrooms, a bathroom with a shower and running water, the main control room, and a large partially-stocked storage room full of all sorts of goodies. About a month after the turmoil that was the sealing off of Lassidus and the formation of the Area 2 quarantine zone, they essentially ran out of food and water. Without the access code to open the panic room's door, the only way they were able to stay alive was by busting a hole in the wall and forcing their way into the secondary ventilation system that serviced the panic room. The wide and sturdy shaft lead straight up to the roof.
That first climb was the hardest, but they only had to do it once. Max had the brilliant idea of tying a rope to one of the exposed rafters on the roof, letting it hang down through the vent. Instead of an arduous and quite dangerous climb through to the roof, they simply had to make their way up the rope.
BANG! Haytham shook his head, refocusing himself. The Wikipedia dump had been copied over to his phone successfully, but the Google Maps data was taking quite a bit longer. It was barely 70% complete.
"Hurry hurry hurry." Haytham muttered to himself, standing. The monsters were almost through the steel door of their panic room. They had attacked in waves this time, as if dispatched specifically to their house... and something
new was among them.
Heuristics. The art of solving problems based on past experience. That was the secret to survival here. During month two, all Haytham and Max did was survive on Heuristics. They tested different hypotheses. Once, while the sun was going down, they stood on the roof of their house, directing a laser pointer into what remained of the eyes of some of the nearby zombies. The infernal creatures would only react after a prolonged period of exposure, or to the sun itself coming up.
Heuristic one: The shambling zombies around here couldn't see anything outside of big bright flashes of light. They don't get you by seeing you.
After further experimentation, they figured that not only couldn't they see all that well—if at all—but they couldn't "feel" either, through touch. These creatures operated solely on the sensations of hearing and smell. They tested this hypothesis too one day, wrapping themselves in clothes they managed to appropriate off of a zombie they'd downed. Standing motionless and smelling like decaying flesh, any zombies that wandered toward them continued on, seemingly disinterested.
Heuristic two: Moving around outside becomes much easier if you smell as dead as a zombie and make as little noise as possible.
How's that for problem solving?! But something went wrong on this most previous run of theirs. They'd...
attracted the attention of something. Something
different, and heuristics don't work too well on different.
BANG!It was that "different" zombie that was here now, huffing, puffing, and blowing their god damned house down. The two boys never got a good look at this abomination. They didn't even come into contact with it—they saw only evidence of its existence: the devastation left in its wake.
BANG!The door, reinforced as it was, wouldn't be able to take the beating for much longer. Its middle section had began to cave inwards, and disparate hands were protruding from its now-exposed flanks. The zombies were coming in. Time was about up.
The data transfer on his computer read 91%. This was gonna to be close.
Instead of standing around, Haytham dragged the black satchel back over to the vent opening. This bag contained all their non-foodstuff: rope, tape, a few antibiotics, Max's asthma medicine, small solar cell and charging station, a thin ultrabook, several boxes of ammunition and magazines, and some other stuff. Haytham made a quick run into the storage room then, grabbing several of the remaining guns off of their racks and stuffing them into the sides of the satchel. Three Glock 19s, one handgun he didn't recognize, and one assault weapon—the Galil. He recognized it as a "7.62mm Galil SAR" thanks to the Wikipedia database he downloaded—all he had to do was look up the engravings he found on the weapon. He lay the dangerous device down on top of the black bag, wondering to himself how his father had managed to acquire such an obviously illegal weapon before his thoughts returned to purpose. He turned back to the computer desk.
BANG! The hole in their defenses was wide enough now that Haytham could hear the creatures moaning, scratching and clawing at what remained of the door. Some of them were able to force different body parts through the expanded openings. They were going to rush him very soon.
He had to get out.
Haytham looked back at the computer screen. 98%. Fuck.
He looked back at the Galil lying on top of the satchel. He didn't want to waste ammunition down here—not when they'd be on the run for a while. Every shot would count, and his accuracy wasn't too stellar.
With a satisfying
ding, his computer alerted him to the successful completion of the copy operation.
"Yes!" Haytham shouted triumphantly, disengaging the device from the USB cord and stuffing it into his jacket pocket as fast as humanly possible. It was just in time, too, because the smaller of the zombies had successfully forced their way through the wounded security door. They began to crawl slowly along the ground towards him. Without wasting a moment, Haytham pressed a combination of keys on his keyboard. A red window popped up on the fourth screen.
YOU ARE ABOUT TO ENGAGE THIRD PROTOCOL
THIS FACILITY WILL BE LOCKED DOWN AND INACCESSIBLE UNTIL THE PROTOCOL IS DISENGAGED
ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO DO THIS?
Y/N
He tapped Y, not waiting around to see if it worked or not. He knew it did. He'd run the drill a hundred times.
A timer appeared on the screen.
1:58 SECONDS UNTIL LOCKDOWN!
He had to get out of the ventilation duct before the system activated. His father had installed special safeguards in the secondary vents to protect the panic room from intruders. Third protocol would seal the windows, doors, everything in the entire house. He'd be trapped in this place... with this horde. They'd tear him apart.
Just then, with one final
BANG, the steel door let out a tortured shriek, hinges exploding from the walls as the slab of metal fell to the ground, exposing the room to the horde on the other side. Haytham didn't even look back. Didn't have the time. He just kept moving forward, stuffing himself into the ventilation shaft head first, pulling the satchel and Galil after him. The horde rushed the opening, reaching for him, but he'd made it too far in for them to grab him.
Still, one of them managed to grab the bag.
"Hell no you don't!" he bellowed, heaving at the satchel with all his might, pulling the sack and, unfortunately, the zombies in closer, almost trapping his legs. Losing interest in the bag, the creatures set their sights upon Haytham, attempting to crawl over the obstruction and each other in order to reach the boy's warm flesh. The shaft was too narrow for Haytham to pull the Galil out from under the zombies' decaying corpses, so he simply kicked the closest one—straight in the face. Again and again he kicked until the zombie, face literally broken in, fell backwards and off the bag, entangling itself within the others. They were all moaning with anger, reaching for him.
Scooting backwards across the dusty metal of the shaft, Haytham finally encountered the rope that hung down from the opening in the roof, several meters up.
Yes! The large vent took a sharp 90-degree turn straight up, allowing him to stand. Using the strap attached to the Galil, he swung it around his shoulders, the gun hanging from his side. He then tied the bottom of the rope to the satchel and began furiously climbing, refusing to look down at the claws reaching from below.
"Haytham, come on!" Max shouted down the tunnel at him. "Come on come on!"
"I'm coming, hold on!" he shouted back, climbing as fast as he could.
As he neared the top, something clicked below him. Looking down, he noticed a section of the vent closing itself, slowly.
Third protocol. Haytham poured all of his energy into scaling the remaining length of the rope, pulling himself out of the hole and onto the ceiling with Max's help. He didn't have time to relax, though. The vent was closing, and their ammunition bag was still down there.
"Pull pull pull!" Haytham exhaled excitedly, pulling at the rope with as much strength as he could muster. Max joined in. Together, they managed to pull the black bag up through the shaft a few seconds before it closed itself. They shared a relieved sigh.
Max grinned. "That was close, huh."
"Yeah," Haytham agreed, "too close." He stood, freeing the satchel from the rope. He swung the large bag over his other shoulder, strap across his chest, and tossed the rope over the side of the roof. It was almost long enough to reach the ground. "We have to get out of here before whatever the hell that was decides to come after us."
After a brief once-over, Max determined that the grounds below were clear of enemies. "What was that thing? Why was it able to break through our defenses?"
Haytham shook his head. "I don't know," he began, grabbing the rope and beginning his descent, "but I don't want to find out. Let's go.
Now."
Haytham and Max escaped from their own house that day, never to return. Between them, they had the Galil and an Ithaca 37 pump-action shotgun. They had run out of ammo for the Galil, and were down to their final magazine—32 bullets. On the other hand, the shotgun Max held, the Ithaca, they still had a few boxes of ammunition for. The boys also had the three Glock 19s as well as an unidentified revolver—Haytham couldn't find an entry for it in the Wikipedia database.
They avoided small hordes for most of the day, following their satphone's GPS and the downloaded maps to the nearest "safe point". The safe points were Haytham's idea: small homes or apartments they'd scouted out and cleared beforehand, for use in emergencies. Right now, they only had two.
They came upon their safe point as the sun began to set. After checking the perimeter of the building for busted windows or open doors, they concluded that the place had not been breached in any obvious way. Still, they entered the home cautiously, pistols drawn.
Inside, the house was gloomy. Dinnerware lay scattered about the dining room amid streaks of dried blood. The windows were boarded up—something Haytham and Max had done the last time they visited this place. It was their backup joint, after all. Max went on to clear the rest of the rooms while Haytham took in the scene, shaking his head slightly. He thought about them every time he walked in to this house—the family that lived here was probably attacked right before they sat down for dinner.
Except they didn't have a panic room to run to.
Max returned a few moments later. "It's all clear, bro. All the boards are still on the windows and everything." His eyes darted across the room, skipping over the bloodier parts. "Nice place, huh." Haytham gave him a look.
That night, the brothers sat upon the algid off-white tiles of the bathroom floor, back to back, door locked and secured with a large oak chair wedged under the handle, guns off at their sides. After a small meal of raw chicken noodle soup from a can, Haytham elected to take first watch while Max slept. It'd taken a while to get used to sleeping back to back, but over the months of venturing outside and scavenging for food, they'd developed quite a few tactics on how to stay alive outside of the panic room. Heuristics aimed at solving the problem of survival in a post apocalyptic world. This was one of them.
It wasn't until a few hours later—with the moon high in the sky—that Haytham became aware of a sound...
scratching? He adjusted his posture slightly, trying not to wake Max. He appreciated his younger brother's slow rhythmic heartbeat. He was alive.
They were both still alive.
The scratching sound was coming from the boarded up window. Suddenly a howl pierced the gentle ambiance of the night. With their backs together, Haytham could feel Max's breath quicken as he awoke. Neither of them moved. Neither of them said a word. Neither of them made single noise. The howl had sounded like it was really close... Haytham turned his head to the small bathroom window, where the scratching sound had originated.
"Max," he whispered as softly as he could while still being heard. "The window."
There was a reason Haytham and Max did not travel at night or enter large dark buildings when they started leaving the safe house a couple of months ago. Sure, it was harder to see and thus easier get surrounded and all that, but those weren't the main reasons. Although the boys had only ever come into direct contact with the shambling slow-moving zombies, they knew that there were
other things out there somewhere... and they only seemed to come out at night.
Another howl pierced the night silence. Something was definitely out there.
Max reached for the shotgun, but Haytham grabbed his hand. If they engaged this... whatever it was, they'd blow their cover. They'd have to run...
at night. They'd never survive. Through his hand, Haytham could feel Max trembling. Maybe they were both trembling. After a few minutes, the scratching sound subsided—the thing at their window had lost interest, moving on. There they sat, all night, backs together, shaking, hoping, praying, as the creatures outside danced about in the moon-lit half-light, howling at each other.
Needless to say, they didn't get much sleep.
Morning didn't come quickly enough, but it did come. It always comes. Haytham managed to nod off for a bit and was enjoying the tranquil blackness when someone shook him.
"Theo!" Max had an urgent tone. "Theo! Theo!"
Haytham opened his eyes immediately, grabbing for his gun. "What is it?!"
Max turned, pointing to the black satchel. Someone was vibrating within, making a soft buzzing sound. Huey recognized the vibrating pattern almost instantly. Standing, he walked over to the bag, removing the jacket he'd stuffed hastily into the top compartment. From the pocket of the jacket he pulled the satphone.
It was vibrating. Someone was calling them.
"Is someone calling...?" Max asked, looking at Haytham. The elder brother simply stared down at the device in his hand.
Who could possibly be calling them at a time like this? The number said "BLOCKED". Haytham's eyes drifted to the caller's reported ID, which consisted of only a single letter: "A".