To Be A Champion

Chapter 17: Everywhere

"Tom, Five, Janine." Paula's voice is laced with panic. "Morag and I have eyes on you. You're on a roof surrounded by zombies. Looks like they're starting to wake up. All... all 200 of them."

"The ones near us havenae woken up yet, though," Morag adds.

"They'll be responding to the movement around them," Janine states, her voice steady despite the rising tension. "It will take some time to ripple outward, and we have a clear escape route across the roofs. Tom, Five, stay in here with me for a few moments. There is rather a lot of material in here."

I let out a shaky breath as I look around. The rain that drums on the roofs is nothing compared to the cold, horrifying sound of the zoms waking up all around us. I didn't notice it before, since everything happened so quickly when we went inside, but Janine is right. There are papers everywhere, most of the writing on them scribbled and messy. Hurried, possibly? Or panicked. Tom hesitates as he reaches to grab a stack that sits on a small, old wood desk.

"We won't have time to go through all of these, but if we take them, he'll know we've been here."

Janine frowns at him. "We must take that risk. We will not be able to return here, and nor, in all likelihood, will he. At least, not while the zombies are active. And the Edda may be among these piles of papers."

I grab a stack and shove them into my backpack. I doubt Jones would leave the Edda lying around. He made this trap because he was paranoid and feared we would end up finding him. If he did that, then he would know the repercussions. He'd know he'd be cut off from his base, and I can't imagine he'd be willing to let himself be separated from the Edda for so long if this were to happen.

"This is all we seem to do with Jones," Paula growls over the radio. "Pick up stuff he's left behind."

Tom huffs, his face showing his own battle with frustration. "It's better than nothing." He hands me a stack of papers from another small table. "Put these in your backpack, will you? In the waterproof backs to protect them from the rain. I'll grab this pile from the stool."

I gasp sharply as the moans outside grow louder. "I think it might be time for us to go."

"You should," Morag agrees. "The zombies in the street below you are getting restless. Oh, look at the jerky way they're moving."

I peer outside the window, my chest tightening. Their movements remind me of how the zoms moved years ago after we sprayed some with the Meyers' spray, except they aren't dying. I open the door, giving Tom and Janine a look that tells them we need to leave. Fortunately, they've gotten everything they can, so we depart.

The rain hits my skin as we awkwardly walk over the struts, towards the shore. A loud snarl hits my ears, and I turn my head to see a pair of death-glazed eyes boring right into me. Then I see more, and more.

"I think it's safe to say we've been spotted," Tom says with a curse. "Run!"

I try to quicken my steps, not looking down because I'm sure that would only make me lose my balance and fall off the strut. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest, and the papers in my backpack feel ten times heavier than they should, as if they're trying to pull me down, make me fall.

Once we get past the struts, we start moving along the rooftops, staying away from the sides as the rain begins to fall harder. My hair sticks to my forehead and the side of my face, and I push it back with gritted teeth. Hot puffs of air leave my mouth, unlike the grunts and growls that leave the zoms'. No body heat means no warm air leaving their lungs and making it steam up, which makes it that much more unnerving.

They follow right along with us from below, eyes wide with a dead hunger that I don't want to understand.

Their once jerky movements are starting to smooth out as if the bodies are getting used to moving again. I think it'll still take a few minutes before they'll be able to move normally. I'm surprised some of them can move at all, with how deteriorated their muscles have become, especially in the legs. Some have wasted away to nearly nothing and yet they still move.