had utilized much of the training techniques O’Connor had. Not as much yelling, screaming, ancestry references or ass chewing, but nonetheless very similar. Rookies still got to clean out the puke, but that was a rite of passage – one other thing O’Connor took great pleasure imparting on many occasions. Harry had even been convinced at one point that Shane O’Connor was somehow related to R. Lee Ermey. That salty, bushy-eyebrowed, sadistic old drill sergeant turned actor, of sorts .
So he continued to watch for that elusive pattern the zombies were demonstrating. He knew it was there; he just needed to keep his mouth shut, his eyes open, and needed to damn well pay attention to what was going on around him.
Looking down from three various locations on the roof, he observed many of the infected moving south at about the same time each day, almost like they were migrating. Three things he was certain of was the time of day this apparent migration occurred, that they all headed in a southerly direction, and that there seemed to be slightly less of them in the areas surrounding his location.
The ir numbers were relative, of course. There were still seemingly dozens spread out in the area, but less of them than in the beginning. Something was definitely odd about their behavior, other than the obvious fact they were zombies, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. He could see down Stockton Street, a fairly steep hill, past Union Square, toward a section of Market Street that appeared to be packed with the infected. “Why are you all down there?” Harry pondered several times.
On the second and final day of his zombie stakeout, another event occurred that would ultimately help Harry. As he was just getting ready to open the roof door to descend down the stairs back to his apartment, he heard what could only have been the report of a very large weapon from the direction of the Bay Bridge, which was southeast of his building. It was very similar to something heard during fireworks shows just before the huge shell blanks exploded overhead.
As he turned toward the sound , a section of the Bay Bridge was clearly in view. The next thing he heard was a huge explosion followed immediately by thick black smoke rising from the bridge section nearest Treasure Island. Harry had just said “What the fuck!” when he heard three more shots in fairly rapid succession and, with the corresponding explosions, more black smoke rising but in different sections of the upper deck. All in very close proximity to the Treasure Island connector.
Harry had no idea what was happening, but the effect the noise had on the zombies was immediate. They all started walking, running, or crawling in the direction of the bridge and the noise, clearing yet more of them from his area. In addition, they were headed right for the burning section of the City, so it became Harry’s fervent hope that the fire would also take out some of them along the way.
The elusive zombie behavior had finally become very clear to Harry, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks, as he was watching the interview on GNN “… zombies don’t swim and are afraid of water,” and “ zombies prefer to walk downhill, unless they get attracted to something up hill.” Harry had sat bolt upright in the chair when he heard that. “Could it be that simple?”
“It’s the fog!” Harry had shouted. “They’re trying to get away from the heavy fog, forcing them downhill!” That was when the gears started turning in formulating the plan he was going to attempt. But he needed to be sure. The City was continuing to burn, and his time was running out to remain in the building much longer, so whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it soon. Being burned to death or ripped apart by zombies were options Harry preferred to avoid.
10
The late spring and summer months were generally the time of year that the fog was the heaviest in San Francisco; it was
So he continued to watch for that elusive pattern the zombies were demonstrating. He knew it was there; he just needed to keep his mouth shut, his eyes open, and needed to damn well pay attention to what was going on around him.
Looking down from three various locations on the roof, he observed many of the infected moving south at about the same time each day, almost like they were migrating. Three things he was certain of was the time of day this apparent migration occurred, that they all headed in a southerly direction, and that there seemed to be slightly less of them in the areas surrounding his location.
The ir numbers were relative, of course. There were still seemingly dozens spread out in the area, but less of them than in the beginning. Something was definitely odd about their behavior, other than the obvious fact they were zombies, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. He could see down Stockton Street, a fairly steep hill, past Union Square, toward a section of Market Street that appeared to be packed with the infected. “Why are you all down there?” Harry pondered several times.
On the second and final day of his zombie stakeout, another event occurred that would ultimately help Harry. As he was just getting ready to open the roof door to descend down the stairs back to his apartment, he heard what could only have been the report of a very large weapon from the direction of the Bay Bridge, which was southeast of his building. It was very similar to something heard during fireworks shows just before the huge shell blanks exploded overhead.
As he turned toward the sound , a section of the Bay Bridge was clearly in view. The next thing he heard was a huge explosion followed immediately by thick black smoke rising from the bridge section nearest Treasure Island. Harry had just said “What the fuck!” when he heard three more shots in fairly rapid succession and, with the corresponding explosions, more black smoke rising but in different sections of the upper deck. All in very close proximity to the Treasure Island connector.
Harry had no idea what was happening, but the effect the noise had on the zombies was immediate. They all started walking, running, or crawling in the direction of the bridge and the noise, clearing yet more of them from his area. In addition, they were headed right for the burning section of the City, so it became Harry’s fervent hope that the fire would also take out some of them along the way.
The elusive zombie behavior had finally become very clear to Harry, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks, as he was watching the interview on GNN “… zombies don’t swim and are afraid of water,” and “ zombies prefer to walk downhill, unless they get attracted to something up hill.” Harry had sat bolt upright in the chair when he heard that. “Could it be that simple?”
“It’s the fog!” Harry had shouted. “They’re trying to get away from the heavy fog, forcing them downhill!” That was when the gears started turning in formulating the plan he was going to attempt. But he needed to be sure. The City was continuing to burn, and his time was running out to remain in the building much longer, so whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it soon. Being burned to death or ripped apart by zombies were options Harry preferred to avoid.
10
The late spring and summer months were generally the time of year that the fog was the heaviest in San Francisco; it was
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