wrapped up warm in his tent, it had been like sitting before a massive campfire. He had watched the inferno, hypnotized by the light and movement as the flames danced. Even the crackling and pops as the buildings were consumed were comforting, the noise drowning out the clamour of the dead.
An hour ago the whole street was awash with the orange glow of flame. But the scolding blaze had abated. Now only embers glowed and the occasional crash as the scorched infrastructure collapsed. Now, above the sounds of the dying buildings, through the pitter-patter of the rain and gurgle of the rivulets, Ali could again hear the dead calling. It had been hours since he’d made a sound up here and even longer since a zombie had seen him. Yet they still held sentry, waiting for their chance to devour him.
The drone grew louder, rising against the rain, a monotonous dull whine.
Ali wanted to cry out, “Shut up!”
But he knew it would have the opposite effect, only aggravating them further.
Then it struck him: the noise held a steady rhythm, not the normal cacophony of disorder.
He unzipped his sleeping bag and stood at the entrance to the tent. The full force of the rain lashed against his face. His long beard fluttered like a forgotten flag on a battlefield.
The sound was most definitely an engine. Ali burled round and found the gas lantern in the tent. He switched it on and turned the valve to full. A bright white light shone from the ribbed prism glass of the lamp and illuminated his island-like campsite.
Without thinking, he held the light aloft and waved it like a cliched shipwreck survivor. In a sense that’s exactly how he felt-marooned on this rooftop surrounded by a sea of dead flesh.
He raised a hand to his mouth and was about shout for help when he realized the noise of the rotor blades would drown out even his loudest cry.
Ali stood waving and waiting for the chopper to come into sight. The seconds stretched into minutes, and although the sound of the helicopter continued to grow, it was still maddeningly out of sight.
“Come on,” Ali said anxiously.
Masked by the driving rain, he could now see the pulsing flashes of its tail lights. Tantalizingly near yet impossibly distant, the chopper’s running lights beckoned.
Ali suddenly became acutely worried that the chopper wouldn’t see him or his small insignificant light in a storm. With the embers of dying fires still drawing the eye, maybe he’d be missed. Still with the lantern aloft, he turned back to look in the tent. He scanned the contents there, the stove, the rucksack, sleeping bag. Nothing was of any obvious use. As the panic of missing his ride climbed out of the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t remember what was in the rucksack.
He bent down, intent on spilling the contents on the ground, when it found him. A bright beam of light engulfed the rooftop, illuminating every streak of rain as it fell.
Ali turned round and the glare of the light forced him to screw his eyes shut. He placed his free hand in front of his eyes to shield them.
The force of the downdraft from the rotors tore at the tent and made Ali gulp down lungfuls of wet breath. Needles of rain stung his face, but Ali was jubilant. A triumphant smile filled his face and puffed out his cheeks. He waved the lantern, no longer signaling but rejoicing.
“I’m saved!” Ali beamed. “I’m saved!”
A crackle of static burst over the noise of the blades.
“Is your position secure?” the artificially amplified voice bellowed.
“Yes! Yes!” Ali shouted.
“I can’t hear you,” the disembodied voice replied. “Wave your torch up and down for yes, left and right for no.”
Ail waved the lantern up and down.
“Good,” the voice came. “Are the others with you?”
Ali signaled no.
“Have you seen other survivors since this morning?” the pilot asked.
Ali dutifully signaled yes, remembering the futile conversation with Ryan across the street.
“Are they alive?” came the next question.
In all honesty Ali couldn’t be sure. They may have burned in the building, they may have been killed trying to escape.
Ali moved the light round in a wide circle.
“I’ll take that as
The helicopter banked slightly before the pilot could compensate for the gust of wind.
“Is there a flat roof nearby?” the pilot asked once he’d stabilized the flight.
Ali looked around. None of the buildings on this side of the street had flat roofs. The larger office block across the way no doubt had, but they had been destroyed by the fire.
Reluctantly Ali signaled back no.
“Is there somewhere flat I can land?”
Again Ali signaled no.
“I don’t have a winch, man. So I can’t pick you up without landing.”
“What?” Ali said, even too quietly to hear himself.
“I’ll come back for you,” the voice promised. “I need to go back and refuel.”
Ali was standing still, the lantern by his side, the rain lashing off his dumbstruck face.
“I won’t make it back tomorrow, what with the turnaround time,” explained the helicopter pilot. “I’ll come back for you the day after. Can you hold out till then?”
Frozen by his disappointment, Ali just stared at the chopper.
“Did you hear me? Can you hold out for two days?”
Robotically, Ali waved the light up and down for yes.
“Good. I’ll bring a winch operator and we’ll get you out of here. Hang tight buddy,” the pilot chirped.
The searchlight flicked off and the helicopter rose into the rainy sky.
“Two days,” Ali whispered despondently.
He stood like a stone gargoyle, the harsh white light of the lamp, his blank expression and unruly beard making him look all the more haunted and gruesome than the cadavers below.
“Two days,” he said again.
The blinking taillight was quickly lost to the rain-laden clouds and the moans from the excited dead below climbed above the noise of the receding chopper.
Ali stood frozen, unmoving against the rain.
“Two days,” he whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Breach
Ryan was tidying away the contents of the first aid kit when Cahz came padding into the schoolroom.
“Perimeter secure?” he quipped at the half naked soldier.
Cahz nodded. There were splashes of dark brown mud up his bare legs, but he looked pale even in the yellow flame.
“You okay?” Ryan asked.
“Feeling light headed,” Cahz said, perching on the edge of a desk.
“Sit down.” Ryan moved the first aid kit to one side to make space for him.
“Can’t. We need to set a signal fire.” Cahz looked down at the crisp white dressing on Ryan’s toe. “What happened?”
“I ripped a blister open on that fuckin’ desk,” Ryan cursed.
“Right. Come on then, we need to set a fire.” Cahz pushed himself up.
