Eric Brown - Season of Rot

The small chain of vehicles came to a stop outside the massive steel fence encircling the base.

The group got out of their vehicles like expectant kids on Christmas morning and gathered at the gate, filled with new hope and relief to have finally arrived. A sign hung on the fence, proclaiming that this place was government property and off-limits to the public. It warned civilians to stay away and also boasted that intruders would be shot, but Mike explained that it was just a ruse to help keep the base secret.

“The gate’s locked. That’s a good sign,” Warren said to Mike. “But how do we open it?”

“Just shoot the lock off. The defenses up top don’t really matter. It’s what’s under the sand that’s going to keep us alive.” Mike could see Warren’s military mind unwilling to sacrifice something as small in the grand scheme of things as a locked gate, so he added, “We can use one of the cars to brace it or maybe find a way to chain it back ourselves if we need to.”

Warren called for Daniel to bring him his weapon and used the high-powered rifle to destroy the lock. A cheer rose from the survivors of the convoy and people rushed through the gate as it swung open.

“Wait!” Warren screamed, but no one listened.

Mike put a hand on his shoulder. “Let them have this moment. I doubt there’s any need to worry until we actually get inside the complex proper. If there was still a military presence here, we’d already be dead or under fire. We’ll take it slower then. I promise.”

Warren reluctantly agreed, but moved the lever of the rifle to load another round into the chamber.

Mike sipped at his cup of coffee, savoring the flavor as he flipped through the stack of paperwork on his desk. He and the others had been living in the base for a week and it still seemed like a dream. They were as safe as they could be in a world gone to hell. They had food, running water, electricity—he even had a damn office again.

There was so much to do ahead of them. They had yet to finish a full inventory of the base’s massive stockpiles, and they hadn’t even begun to explore the research that had been conducted there before the rats came. Maybe there was something they could use as a weapon against the creatures. Anything seemed possible.

The first things they had done after moving in were simply the basics: getting the place as operational as they could, assigning everyone living quarters, and setting up a watch shift for the base’s security room; they had also assigned a team to make contact with other survivors via the base’s communications array.

Everyone was happy and finding a way to contribute—everyone except Warren. The man had become withdrawn now that he had accomplished his mission. He was a soldier by blood, and damn good at his job too, but it appeared that after he’d gotten everyone to the base, his job was at an end, at least for the foreseeable future; while Mike hated to think that the man felt useless, he had to confess he was thankful they had no reason for his protection.

The base also had an armory, so he’d assigned Warren the task of inventorying the weaponry and devising the best plan to defend the base, should the rats breach the compound. He knew Warren took the task seriously, but he also understood it wasn’t what Warren was really trained to do.

Someone knocked on the door to his office. Mike placed his coffee beside the paperwork on his desk as Benji let himself in. Mike instantly saw the mischievous look on Benji’s face and knew that his plans of working through the morning were pretty much shot to hell. He smiled as the younger man entered and shut the door behind him.

A classic Beach Boys tune echoed in the hallway as Brent sped along on a skateboard. He let out a scream of pure joy as he reached the hall’s end and jumped into the air, pulling off a Tony Hawk-style stunt. He landed and, keeping his momentum, turned to head back the way he’d come.

He nearly lost his balance and barely managed to stop when he saw Warren standing in his path. He grabbed up the board and snapped to attention. “Sir,” he bellowed over the Beach Boys.

“Music’s a bit loud, isn’t it, Private?”

Brent rushed over to the portable stereo he’d looted from one of the base’s work areas and shut off the song halfway through. “Sorry, sir, won’t happen again.”

Warren hid a smile. He wondered if he was ever as young as Brent was. “It’s okay, Private, and please stop calling me sir .” Warren nodded at the skateboard. “Looks like fun.”

“Yes…” Brent caught himself before he ended with the word sir . “It is.”

“At ease, soldier. I didn’t come by to give you hell. I’m working on a list of the stuff in the armory for Mike and just thought you might want to help me finish it.”

Brent visibly relaxed. “Love to, sir.”

Warren shot him a look. “Call me Warren, damn it, or I will end up kicking your ass after all, got it?”

Brent nodded and started to collect his stuff from the hallway.

“Leave it,” Warren ordered. “It shouldn’t take us long. You’ll be surfing the corridors again before you know it.”

The base consisted of four levels. The top held the administrative areas, and the second floor housed a mixture of supply storage, generators, the armory, and things of that nature. Both the third and fourth story contained a mixture of quarters, labs and the like, but unique to the third were the communications room and security area.

Warren and Brent got into the elevator, and Warren hit the button for the second floor. As the doors closed, he spoke up. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you got out of the attack on the convoy alive. Most everyone credits you with saving their lives, but I wanted to hear from you what really went down out there.”

Brent shifted uncomfortably. “I just did what I had to do.”

“I know that, soldier. I’m not looking to place judgment. It’s a miracle any of you got out. I just want to hear how you pulled it off.”

Brent took in a deep breath and started his explanation. “We were all tired and hungry. You know how tough life on the road could be, and that was an especially bad day after you guys left. We had a hell of time getting to the rally point. Gerald was raging worse than usual, and we were forced several times to stop just so he and his crew could jury-rig some of the vehicles to keep them rolling. When we finally made it there, all anyone wanted to do was rest. There were more of the wandering dead around than usual, so Mike ordered me to round up some volunteers to help deal with them. None of us were concerned… well, not really. We just figured the slightly higher number of the dead came from being closer to a formerly populated area. I sent the regulars to their posts and was still trying to get some people to help us out when all hell broke loose.

“Suddenly the dead were pouring like rivers out of the hills all around us. I’d never seen anything like it. They just kept coming, wave after wave of them, staggering towards the convoy. I rushed to the perimeter to try to take command of the convoy’s watchers, but the panic in the camp was too great. Almost everybody with a gun started shooting. We started having our own people caught in the crossfire…” Brent paused; crossfire wasn’t the correct word, but he couldn’t think of another one. “Some idiots were trying to shoot at the dead all the way on the other side of the camp from them. Then things got worse.

“The rats came in, using the dead as cover. I saw Mike on top of the command car with that little guy he spends so much time with. Mike himself was using the car’s mounted weapon. I knew I couldn’t reach them, so I couldn’t ask him what to do. Rationally I guess I knew we couldn’t use the flamethrowers against the rats with so many of the dead around, but I went for them anyway. My mind kept screaming that they were our only hope against the rats. Even an automatic rifle is nearly useless if you’re facing a swarm of them.