The Riverfront Siege

The door opened on darkness and cold water.

It covered the floor to Jeremy’s ankles, black under the flashlight beam. A loose cable floated past, brushing his boot. Beyond the threshold, the freight road narrowed between the depot wall and a row of market buildings whose upper windows were dark and blind.

The woman with the knife peered out. “That’s deeper than before.”

“Stay behind us,” Blue said.

“I’m not the one who needs telling.”

Jeremy stepped through. The water climbed over the soles of his boots, icy enough to numb his toes. Behind him, the door groaned as the river pushed against it.

They moved single file along the wall. Blue led, testing each step with a length of metal pipe she had taken from the maintenance room. Jeremy followed with the flashlight. The woman with the knife came last, turning often to watch the depot entrance.

The freight road had become a shallow canal. Crates, broken pallets, and strips of plastic drifted between the buildings. A delivery truck leaned against the market curb, its rear wheels buried beneath brown water. Farther ahead, the red sign marking the barrier showed only its top edge.

A sound came from the truck.

Jeremy raised the flashlight.

A face pressed against the rear window. The mouth opened and closed without a voice. One hand slapped the glass.

The woman with the knife lifted her blade.

“Not yet,” Jeremy whispered.

The face struck the window again. The glass starred but held.

Blue pointed toward the opposite side of the road. “We go through the passage.”

The passage was barely shoulder-wide between the truck and a brick wall. Floodwater churned through it, carrying splinters and grit. Beyond it, the road opened toward the market gate.

Jeremy looked back at the depot. Its upper windows were dark. The roofline disappeared into the night. Nothing moved there.

Then something splashed behind them.

The woman with the knife turned. “We have company.”

Three infected staggered into the road from the direction of the river. Water streamed from their clothes. One wore a man’s torn gray coat, the sleeves dragging through the flood. Another had a face swollen on one side and a strip of yellow fabric tied around its wrist.

Blue raised the pipe. “Keep moving.”

The infected saw them.

The one in the gray coat lurched forward, slipped, and caught itself against the depot wall. Its fingers scraped over the bricks. The others followed, making wet, broken noises that carried between the buildings.

Jeremy pushed through the narrow passage. The truck’s metal side scraped his shoulder. Water surged around his knees where the road dipped. His bad wrist flared as he caught the wall.

“Jeremy,” Blue called. “Faster.”

He reached the far side and turned. The woman with the knife was trapped behind the truck’s corner. The infected were closing, their feet churning the water.

Jeremy grabbed a hanging chain from the truck’s rear door and yanked. The door swung open with a crash, spilling empty cardboard boxes into the road. The infected stumbled toward the noise.

“Now!”

The woman with the knife drove her shoulder into the opening. Blue seized her arm and pulled. They burst into the market lane as the infected slammed against the truck.

A box floated past Jeremy, soaked and collapsing.

The market gate stood at the end of the lane, a steel barrier set between two concrete posts. The red sign above it read FREIGHT ROAD CLOSED. Beneath the sign, the gate had been forced halfway upward. Its lower edge hung crooked, caught on a bent rail.

Jeremy waded toward it.

Blue swept the flashlight across the road. “There.”

A maintenance booth crouched beside the gate. Its door had been torn off. Inside, a control panel blinked weakly beneath a film of water.

Jeremy climbed onto the booth’s concrete step and leaned in. Wires hung from the panel like wet roots. A hand-operated release wheel sat at the back, rusted but intact.

“The gate’s not locked,” he said.

“Can it open?”

“Not from here.”

The woman with the knife looked over her shoulder. “They’re coming.”

The infected had cleared the truck. One crawled over the boxes, its hands slapping at the water. The man in the gray coat dragged one leg behind him, but he was gaining ground.

Blue entered the booth and shoved a fallen cabinet away from the wheel. “What do you need?”

“Room.”

“There isn’t any.”

Jeremy wedged his shoulder against the wheel and pushed. Rust cracked beneath his palms. The wheel moved a fraction, then stopped.

Behind him, the woman with the knife shouted and struck at reaching hands. Metal rang against bone.

“Jeremy!”

He pushed again. His injured wrist buckled. Pain flashed up his arm, but the wheel groaned and turned. Somewhere under the road, a chain began to clatter.

The gate rose another foot.

“Enough,” Blue said. “The convoy can fit beneath that.”

Jeremy stopped and looked through the opening. Beyond the gate, the freight road climbed slightly, clear of the worst floodwater. Tire tracks cut through the mud toward the northern bend. The route was narrow, but passable.

He pulled the radio from his coat.

“Depot to convoy,” he said. “Market gate is reachable. Freight road is flooded but open. Gate clearance is limited. Do not approach fast.”

Static answered.

He adjusted the damaged antenna wire and tried again.

“Convoy, this is Riverfront Depot. Do you copy?”

A voice broke through, thin and distant. “Depot, we copy. Confirm route.”

“Market gate. Freight road. You can reach the gate, but stop outside until we signal.”

“Understood. First light.”

The transmission dissolved into static.

For one second, hope moved through him - small, dangerous, real.

Then Blue grabbed his sleeve.

“Jeremy. Look.”

The infected had stopped at the edge of the lane.

They were not attacking the gate. They were staring past it, toward the road they had come from.

One turned its head. Another lifted its face toward the depot.

A low cry passed between them.

More movement appeared in the darkness behind the truck. Shapes emerged from the flooded freight road, first two, then four, then a shifting mass filling the space between the market buildings.

The woman with the knife backed into the booth. “How many?”

Jeremy could not count them. The water moved around their legs. Their clothing snagged on pallets and torn fencing, but they kept coming.

Blue looked toward the depot. “They followed our trail.”

The radio crackled again.

“Depot, confirm your position. We have movement near the riverfront.”

Jeremy pressed the transmit button. “Do not come in. Repeat, do not come in. The route is open, but the infected are tracking us back.”

A burst of static swallowed the reply.

The nearest infected reached the half-raised gate and thrust its arms beneath it. Its fingers clawed at the water inches from Jeremy’s boots.

Blue seized the wheel. “We’re closing it.”

“If we close it, the convoy can’t use it.”

“If we leave it open, they follow us home.”

Jeremy looked through the gate at the clear stretch of road beyond. The path existed. That was what he had come to find. It ran from the market gate toward the old freight road, narrow and flooded but usable.

Behind him, the depot waited in darkness, its weakened gate and failing braces standing between the survivors and the riverfront.

He made his choice.

“Close it,” he said. “We know the route now.”

Blue spun the wheel. The chain screamed beneath the road. The gate dropped, grinding over the infected’s hands. One arm vanished under the steel. The creature thrashed, striking the barrier until the woman with the knife drove her blade through its wrist and pulled free.

Jeremy shoved the booth door across the entrance as the gate slammed down.

“Move,” Blue said.

They ran.

Water splashed around Jeremy’s knees as they forced their way back through the narrow passage. The infected hammered the market gate behind them. Each impact traveled through the road and into his bones.

At the truck, the infected in the torn gray coat climbed over the boxes. Blue struck it across the face with the pipe. It fell sideways, blocking the passage.

“Over it!” she shouted.

Jeremy stepped onto the truck’s bumper, grabbed the roof rail, and hauled himself up. The metal was slick beneath his gloves. He reached down for the woman with the knife and pulled her onto the truck bed as Blue climbed after them.

Below, the infected crowded the opening. One caught Jeremy’s boot.

He kicked until the grip broke.

They crossed the truck roof and dropped into the water on the depot side. The maintenance door stood twenty yards away. The first gray light of morning had begun to gather behind the buildings, revealing more figures in the road.

Not dozens.

More.

Jeremy reached the door and shoved it open. Blue entered first, then the woman with the knife. He turned once before following.

The infected had left the market gate.

They were coming after them.

Their trail ran through the floodwater, marked by footprints, dragged boxes, and the bright beam of Jeremy’s flashlight. One by one, the infected entered the narrow road toward the depot.

Jeremy pulled the door shut.

The bar dropped into place, but the impact from outside came almost at once.

Once.

Twice.

Then many hands struck the metal together.

Blue stared at him across the dark passage. “The route is open.”

Jeremy listened to the blows multiplying beyond the door.

“Yes,” he said. “And now they know where we live.”

End of chapter one. 39 more chapters and about 80,118 words in the full book.