Bloodshed (Book One in the Apocalypse Trilogy)

Chapter 2: The Tower

Location: Eureka Tower

Williams

The elevator had been broken since before Williams had come to the Tower. The crushed box rested in the floor of the shaft, making it possible to stand in the dark tunnel. To get up, a rope ladder was suspended up the side. Williams closed the doors again, and began the climb up the shaft. Eventually, he came to the eighth floor. No other floors remained above it. Williams banged on the double doors.

“Open up!” he called.

“How do I know it’s you?” called back a voice trying to conceal laughter.

Williams fought the urge to shoot the doors.

“Cal, do I sound like a zombie?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Cal! Open the damn door!”

“Okay, okay, don’t get ya knickers in a knot!”

Clanking noises came from the other side of the metal doors as the barricades were removed, and they slid open to reveal the grinning face of Cal Winters.

“What’s up, doc?” he said in a fake Bugs Bunny accent.

Williams pushed past him and went into their eighth-floor home.                       

Eureka Tower had been one of the finest works of architecture before the apocalypse. With 91 floors, it had been the sixth tallest building in the world. Now, it only had eleven floors left, all of the 13 lifts were broken and it was just another wrecked building, home to three people who had the fortune (or misfortune) to survive a war that had killed everyone else, as far as they knew.

“What spoils does the Lyon bring today?” asked Cal, using the nickname that Williams had earned in the army.

“The same as yesterday Cal; almost nothing.” Williams walked through a hole in the wall (unexplained) and passed Johnny on his way to the janitor’s closet. Johnny was curled up on a mattress, clutching his double-barrelled Lupara shotgun and a bag of marijuana cigarettes. He put the two cans on a shelf in the closet, and noted that there wasn’t a lot of food left. They would have to do something about that soon. On his way to the armoury, he threw the baggie of pot at Johnny.

Johnny woke with a start.

“You’re the best, man!” he exclaimed. He immediately started to make joints out of old papers from filing cabinets.

Johnny had already been living in the Tower with Cal when Williams arrived. He was a pot addict, and a maniac who had been driven insane by an incident that neither Cal nor Johnny wanted to talk about. Johnny’s madness had both saved their lives and put them in danger on many separate occasions. He seemed immune to fear, but when he was smoking he could go from a good friend to a murderous, paranoid madman. It was for this reason that Cal and Williams had decided to put a stop to the drug. Johnny didn’t notice, but they were giving him less pot every time. If he ever did notice, they’d tell him that they couldn’t find more. The weaning had apparently been going on for over three years, ever since the day that…                             

Williams hadn’t been at the Tower when it happened. He knew that Cal had never quite forgiven Johnny, who now lived with a guilty conscience, which was why he started smoking even more after the incident. When you couldn’t find alcohol, marijuana was just as good in this world; no police to stop you.

Williams hung the Model 70 on the wall, in between Cal’s two Berretta 9mms and 12-guage shotgun. His .45 Magnum Colt revolver, however, remained in its holster. You didn’t walk around unarmed these days. A few years before nukes started going off, even toddlers were given weapons. He sank into a chair and began cleaning the bullet chamber. After a minute, Cal came in as well.

“Nice one with the grenade,” he commented/

Cal grinned.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” he said. “It’s too bad no-one but you and some zombies saw it.”

“It was awesome, and I’ll always know,” Williams said mockingly.

Yeah, ‘cause that’s any consolation,” said Cal.

There was a moment’s silence. The only noise was Johnny in the bathroom, giggling hysterically over something he was seeing.

Cal was the first to break the silence. “We’re finding less food, you know.”

Williams sighed. “Yeah, I know. Johnny probably does as well. He pays more attention than we give him credit for.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky, find a huge stockpile somewhere. Ammo, food, water...”

Williams doubted this would happen. Cal and Johnny had been here for eight years, and Williams had come from Sydney four years ago. All their efforts to find food in that time had gotten more and more pointless.

Now they were lucky to find a few things each day. Soon they would have to leave, and try to find food in another place.