Free The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) by Luke Duffy Page A

shrugged while scratching his head. “Ron’s the expert on this sort of thing.”
    Both of them knew that it would be pointless to try switching it on. After years of sitting on the rooftop, the battery would be dead and useless. However, it was something that they had to try. Al flicked the switch and pressed the handset to his ear, clicking the send button and blowing into the mouthpiece a number of times. There was nothing. The usual static hiss of the HF radio was replaced by a dead silence. Their only hope was that it was just the battery and not the set itself.
    It was heavy and bulky, appearing like something that had been in use since the middle of the last century and in fact, it had been. The Clansman UK/PRC 320 HF radio had first been developed in the 1960s. It had proven its worth and was a tried and tested piece of equipment. Although complicated to the partially trained, expert users were able to establish communications with it from across the globe. Most of them had been phased out of service by the end of the first decade of the twenty-first century, being replaced by the more advanced Bowman communications systems, but when the outbreak began, military units were using whatever equipment they could get their hands on.
    Al detached the battery and unscrewed the antenna. It was the radio itself that they needed, and the less weight that they were carrying the better. He stuffed it into the empty pack that he unslung from over his shoulders, securing it tightly so that it did not move around or jut out from his back when he moved.
    “Ron, this is Al, radio check.”
    He tried numerous times, but there was still no answer. They were now, more or less, in direct line of sight from their base location. The VHF radio that they were carrying, although small and with a short planning range, should still have had no problem transmitting and receiving from their elevated position. However, a reply never came from anyone at the FOB. He unclipped the set from his harness, checked the battery and frequency, and then finally ensuring that the radio was actually switched on. All seemed to be in working order. They had carried out a ‘comms-check’ before heading into the tunnel, and they had sent and received to Ron clearly and at full strength.
    “Ron, Gary, Tina, anyone,” he snarled into his mouth-piece. “Pull your fingers out of your arses, and answer up. We’re at the first location. We’ve found the radio, but we’re trapped. Acknowledge, over.”
    Al tried a few more times before ripping out his earpiece and kicking his boot across the gravel, sending a multitude of small rocks and a cloud of dust scattering across the rooftop. He grunted his annoyance as he stuffed the radio back into his pouch. He moved across to the wall and looked out over the dark rooftops of the city, a concentrated and determined expression in his eyes. He chewed his bottom lip, grunting and nodding to himself as he made his assessment and attempting to ignore the wailing and clambering dead below them.
    “Now what?” Tommy asked, hoping that Al had suddenly thought up a solution to their dire predicament.
    “Fucked if I know,” Al shrugged, turning to him and shaking his head. “I was hoping you’d have an idea of what to do.”
    “Dick.”
    Tommy spat over the side, turned away, and then slumped against the wall before dropping into a squat. The sound of the voices below filled the air, becoming more intense as thousands of the reanimated arrived at the parking complex. They were trapped.

 
    4
     
    Even Ron was beginning to show signs of concern. Instead of his usual disinterested, apathetic self, he was now turning dials, checking antennas, and repeatedly calling for a radio check through the VHF communications, demanding that Al or Tommy answer up. He spat the stub of the cigarette from between his lips and onto the floor. He immediately reached for the packet and lit a fresh one.
    Tina remained standing by the door,