When it came to repack the 90, I gave a lot more thought to how to repack it. I gave Sarah a rundown of what we had and where it was plus a bit of a talk about what we tell others we do and don’t have. I also packed two-day sacks as grab or ‘bug out’ bags. These were our emergency survival essentials should we have to leave the 90 temporarily or even permanently.
I packed bottles of water, chocolate and Kendal mint bars, packet food, puritabs, matches, personal survival kit, head torch, batteries, paracord, small tarp, foil blanket, plastic poncho, knife, crowbar, army style mess tins and KFS clip. Spare socks – cold wet feet are a morale killer whilst clean dry socks can give you a much-needed uplift – and spare hoodie. The bag was small but held everything you would need when the shit hit the fan but also small and heavy enough to be used as a weapon. If swung hard it could easily knock someone or a zombie off their feet, giving us time to escape. Again, I told Sarah about them and what was in them then put them in the 90. Hers in passenger footwell and mine between the centre bulkhead and cubby box.
Turing around and shutting the door Sarah was stood behind it and I jumped. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ She said as she held out the cooker packed away in its case.
‘What’s that for?’ I asked.
‘Ummm wild guess, but I'd say cooking.’ She smiled. ‘But it is just a wild guess.’
‘Cocky cow.’ I said whilst smiling back. ‘Put it back over there with these.’ And handed her some ready meal packets.
‘Are we not leaving then?’
I smiled. ‘Nah, let’s have another night in, only no pizza and DVD.’
She beamed. ‘Honestly? Why?’
I could have said that I had read her body language and behaviour today but just said. ‘Cause I can’t be arsed if that’s ok with you miss co-pilot?’
She beamed even more and went off with the cooker and food packets. Halfway across the workshop she turned around. ‘I still get the roof tent tonight again though. Yeah?’
I stuck my head out the 90. ‘Yeah you can still have the tent tonight.’ And stuck my head back in and continued packing.
Fifteen minutes later Sarah called out that our packet gourmet meals were ready, so I opened the fridge and took out two cans of cherryade. Sitting down at the table Sarah passed me my food and I passed her the can. She looked at me.
‘Cherryade?’ she scoffed! ‘Do I look ten?’
I reached for it to take it back. ‘Oh, I’m sorry the shop was out of Stella!’
She laughed loudly. ‘I’m kidding, I’m Kidding! Thanks.’ We ate for a bit in relative silence until the question I had been expecting for the last thirty minutes came. ‘So, you have a route to Bristol sorted then?’
I finished my piping hot mouthful. ‘Yeah, it’s a bit of a convoluted dog leg but I’d still prefer to stay off the motorway.
She was frowning, I could see the cogs turning so held back on the next forkful until the question filtered through the teenage brain and engaged gear with the teenage mouth, which still held food resembling a cement mixer…. ‘Why? Wouldn’t it be quicker to get anywhere we wanted on the motorway?’
It was a fair question. ‘Normally yes, but have you noticed on a motorway that you can go mile upon mile between junction?’ She nodded, mouth full and chewing but this time not on display. ‘Well if we hit trouble, have vehicle probs or just don’t want to be spotted – and we would stand out on a large, long, wide piece of tarmac. When we hit the ambush the other day, we came back this way but there were many turn offs to the left and right along the way that we could have taken in a pretty short stretch. Therefore, if anyone had decided to follow us then they would have had multiple choices of which way to guess where we had gone. The more possibilities, the less likely they would continue to follow us to save them chasing their own arses. On the motorway we would still be going in a straight line with no other choice and a few fast vehicles could have easily caught us. Sometimes getting away doesn’t mean being fast in a straight line but throwing up so many possible escape routes that it’s nearly impossible for them to be able to follow you.’
She smiled and nodded; mouth thankfully empty this time. ‘Sooo, what you are actually saying is being smarter can be better than being faster?’
‘Pretty much.’ I replied and shoved my long waiting forkful of grub in my mouth.
‘Ah, so that’s why we go everywhere at just twenty-five to thirty miles an hour then?’ The voice was one of mocking.
‘As slow as possible, as fast as needed I was once told.’
Sarah swigged her Cherryade and smiled, she had a red colouring marks at the corners of her mouth. ‘Well it worked pretty good for us yesterday so I’m not arguing.’
After dinner Sarah went into the toilets for a wash up and I went around the building checking the doors and out of the windows. Still nothing had changed outside. I turned out the main lights and waited for Sarah to come out of the toilet. She went off to the tent and said goodnight as she went. I set up my matt and bag on the table and took my boots off. I was going to get into my bag when I thought about news. There was a small digital radio on a shelf at the back. It was plugged in but the station it was tuned to was no longer broadcasting. I found the BBC and put the radio back, sat on the table and slipped into my bag and listened. There were rolling power outages expected as only half of the UK power stations were manned now and power was being prioritised. Bristol was still on the up. The Isle of Mann was another success and the Navy was rushed off its feet stopping ships, boats, even canoes and inflatables fleeing from the continent to the UK. Advice was still to stay where you were and that the Bristol Checkpoints were still not yet finished so please don’t yet approach.
There was a brief piece on the danger of Gangs and marauders and that not every group that offered security and safety actually meant it. My eyes closed, the radio sounded further and further away and then sleep found me.
Chapter 13
6:30am and I awake bolt upright to noise. Shuffling, scraping and……humming! I break the Velcro fastening of my sleeping bag open and sit up, slide my feet into my already open boots. Before lacing them up I looked through the office window. Sarah was up and cooking brekkie and humming to herself. Not sure if it was due to her not sleeping and her still wanting to keep busy like yesterday or if she slept well and was feeling a bit more positive about life today?
I laced my boots up nice and tight, put away all my sleeping kit and opened the office door. Sarah was throwing a bit of singing into her humming now. Probably some shite one direction cover of a classic song that didn’t deserve being butchered in their manufactured style, but still, nice that she seems happier. Walking out of the office I said in a slightly louder than normal voice. ‘Morning!’
Sarah jumped but turned around with a huge smile on her face. ‘Hi! breakfast is ready!’ She gestured towards the table.
‘Great! I’m starving!’ She carried on working and cleaning as she went. ‘What was that you were humming? One direction?’
‘No, Justin Bieber. Did you like it?’
I mock groaned. ‘Urgh, that’s even worse!’
Luckily, she realised I was ripping the piss and stuck her tongue out at me. ‘Shhh and sit down.’
We both sat down and tucked into another packet brekkie and mugs of tea.
‘What time are we going to leave?’ she asked.
‘I was thinking in a few hours.’
‘Would it not be best to be earlier? Perhaps people like the ones on the quad bike won’t be up early?’
‘Fair point.’ I conceded. ‘But I think people like that would be ready 24/7. Not only that but I’d rather have daylight on my side in areas I don’t know.’ She nodded an ok. ‘Plus, we might miss something that could be to our advantage. This place would have been very easy to miss in the dark and has suited us great the last few days don’t you think?’
She nodded again and followed up with another question. ‘When we leave here will we lock i
t up or leave it open like we found it?’
I smiled. She was pretty switched on. ‘Like a safehouse?’ I asked.
Replying whilst doing another impression of last night’s cement mixer, ‘Well . . . yeah. I mean it would be good to have a fall-back area wouldn’t it?’
‘Like a place we could retire to and defend?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay. Not the daftest idea I have ever heard but what happens if we come back and someone else is here?’
She thought for a bit. ‘You’ll get nowhere with ‘what ifs’ is what Mum always said.’
‘Fair enough. When we lock up, we hide the keys where only we know. It doesn’t mean someone won’t break in though. And after brekkie you can take ‘some’ supplies from the 90 and it’s your job to hide them for ‘just in case’. Sound fair?’
She was made up. Hiding just a few packets and cans and bits should we ever be back this way would be a nice back up and if it made Sarah come out of herself a bit more it was worth it.
I left her to it, and she promised it would only be two days' worth of supplies. I went off for a slash and a splash whilst she was busy. As I was clearing my kit from the office the radio stopped and the light above went out. Must have been one of those rolling power cuts they were talking about. There had been nothing new on the radio this morning anyway.
Sarah appeared. ‘The lights have gone off.’ She wasn’t scared as such but more apprehensive.
‘Don’t worry, the radio said last night that this would happen. Are you finished?’
‘Five minutes and I’ll let you know.’ And off she popped again.
I threw the last few bits into the 90 and locked the back door. I climbed up the ladder and tidied the bedding before winding the roof tent back down and securing the clips that hold it down.
Back on the floor I did a last look around to make sure that everything was tidy, just as we had found it.
‘Sarah! Assholes and elbows! Let’s go!’ I shouted.
She appeared, smiling. ‘I’ve hidden two days’ worth of food and some water in the service panel of the ramp leg.’ She said, pointing to the blue two post lift.
‘Okay. You got everything you need?’ She nodded. ‘Then get in and I'll get the door.’
I checked through the windows first, then opened one door slightly. Seeing nothing new or threatening I unbolted the second door and swung both open. Jumping back into the 90 I started it up and crawled out slowly, the engine chattering away as I got back out and shut the first door, bolted it top and bottom, then the second. I locked both locks and then looked for a place to hide the keys. Several possibilities crossed my mind of where to put them, but the best place was the 30mph signpost. I fished out some paracord and tied one end to the keys, the other to a stick about 5 inches long then put the keys inside the top of the pole – about seven feet high with the stick wedged between the sign plates so if needed again we just pull the cord out.
Satisfied they were hidden and secure I started walking back to the 90 when suddenly there was a boom, crash and a roar. I threw myself to the tarmac as two grey blurs tore up the sky and the roof tops as they roared past. They were so low that the telegraph poles whipped back and forth like fly fishing rods, the 90 rocked on its suspension and the tin roof of the garage groaned and complained as it struggled to stay on the building to which it was bolted.
Fast jets. Tornadoes or Eurofighter I didn’t know. Planes weren’t one of my interests. However, I suspected that someone or somewhere was about to have some metal dropped on it and we’re lucky we aren’t there. In moments they were out of view. I’m not sure why they were flying so low and so fast though. As far as I'd heard from the news zombies didn’t operate by radar and I haven’t heard of any of them dropping planes with anti-aircraft fire. I imagine it was because the pilots had the skies to themselves and they wanted to blow off steam. Who could blame them?
I jumped into the 90, turned the radio on and put in on low. I was nosey and wanted to know what the RAF were up to around here. I told Sarah where I had hidden the keys and that was that.
Slowly crawling along the forecourt to the road and nothing on the road either way. Across the field two figures were stumbling around in the rutted field. We turned right and headed past the primary school and its freaky kid models looking like they were going to jump out on you at any time. Heading towards the roundabout we turned off at, and going the usual 25-30 mph, we saw a blue sports motorbike two up go past from right to left, at about the same speed as us. I instinctively removed my foot from the accelerator and slowed down.
‘Do you think they saw us?’ Sarah asked.
I was worried that they could be part of the roadblock gang we ran into the other day. ‘Not sure.’ I replied quietly but truthfully. ‘I don’t want to find out either way if I’m honest.’
Looking left and right I could see no sign of the bike. Taking no chances though I went around the roundabout the wrong way, keeping the overgrown plants that were on it to my left side with the aim of shielding me from view of the bike and passenger if they were still there. I headed straight across towards Cam and Dursley and into the Cotswolds. With alert eyes on the rear-views, we passed a turning to the left and I half thought about turning down there. But it could be a dead end and I could be worrying about nothing. A glimpse in the rear-views again and my heart felt like it had dropped through my stomach and out of my arse. A blue sports bike, two up, with headlights on full beam had come into view behind us.
My instinct was to bury my foot and the accelerator into the rubber matting and pray the 2.5 TD5 transformed itself into a 6 litre super-charged V8, but I didn’t believe in God or miracles.
Looking again in the mirrors, it wasn’t speeding but still caught us up quickly. It was about 20 yards behind when it flashed its headlights several times and indicated right before pulling up alongside us and keeping our speed. If this was going to be an attack, then it was a very strange tactic for them to advise their intentions.
The bike pulled forward slightly so that I was now level with the rear passenger. The passenger was turned to his left towards us as much as he could, with his gloved palms out, upturned and visibly empty. I wasn’t slowing and neither were they. He motioned with his head, albeit covered in a full-face helmet with mirror-effect visor, towards his over the shoulder bag. He opened the flap of his pizza delivery style bag. His moves were slow, deliberate and non-threatening.
I tried to keep an eye on him and the road but there was no way we were slowing down just yet, but the road was starting to curve.
‘Keep a look out ahead’ I said to Sarah, ‘I’m trying to read this’.
Inside the pizza bag flap was an A4 laminated notice that read: ‘WE MEAN NO HARM – PLEASE READ THIS.’
From the bag he withdrew an A4 manila envelope, peeled off some paper from double-sided tape and stuck the envelope to the side rear window grill.
The bike pulled away to the side again, the passenger waved, tapped the driver on the helmet and the bike slowed, pulled behind us and stopped. I kept watching in the mirrors, still determined not to slow down myself, and they turned around and rode off back the way they had come.
Sarah looked at me, still worried and I couldn’t blame her. This all seemed very odd to me. Up ahead was a pull-in and some open gates. A quick look and threat assessment showed it to be a low risk place to stop for a few minutes. I positioned the 90 in the gateway so that I could escape left to town, right to the A38 or chuck hope into the ‘fuck it’ bucket and drop into low range diff lock and head through the wooden gate and ploughed field ahead on the other side of the road.
We both had a look out of the windows at our immediate areas and, having deemed it safe for the moment, I quickly got out. Looking around from this perspective showed it to be an old coal yard full of containers like you would use for international shipping. I grabbed the envelope and peeled it off the grill. I was anxious to look at it but got back in first. I flicked th
e sprung gate bolt to lock the door and looked over at Sarah’s door. She had hers already bolted and smiled.
‘Well?’ she asked excitedly.
‘Hold your horses young un! I’ve only just grabbed it.’
In the envelope was a photocopied map with yellow and green highlighter marks on it. With it was a few pieces of photocopied paper with printer text on it.
The map showed the location of a school, just 2.5 miles further along the way we were already heading. It showed not only the school but highlighted areas to stay away from which, if this wasn’t an elaborate trap, was good to know.
The paperwork showed an aerial view of the school and told of a very large, fenced and walled, well protected safe haven with medical facilities, armed guards, clean fresh water, 240v power from wind/solar/generator and mains – though doesn’t say how they are affected by the rolling power cuts – and radio contact with the Bristol stronghold.
It looked damn good to me on paper at least. The small print at the bottom stated that all firearms must be surrendered to the guards upon entry. This reminded me of the signs you’d see on cowboy films as that are entering a town and says they should report to the Sheriff and surrender their weapons during their stay. Like fuck I was. I’ll hide them and make a point of showing the crossbow and if that’s classed as a firearm, I’ll surrender it, make a bit of a fuss and they’ll just take that . . . possibly. I passed the map and papers over to Sarah. ‘See what you think.’
She took it all from me and spread the map out on her lap. ‘It’s pretty close according to this.’ She said, more out loud than a statement or question. She then moved onto the paperwork.
I was lost in my own thoughts thinking about what this could mean for both of us when there was a banging noise at the back of the 90. Sarah jumped a mile even with her seat belt on. I turned in my seat to look behind me through the cargo area. A zombie was trying his best to open the back door by repeatedly smashing his face against the spare tyre and rear window security mesh. A look in the two rear views showed two more approaching from the passenger side. I wasn’t worried and nor was Sarah, she didn’t even absent-mindedly check her door was locked. She continued reading and looked back at the map.
The Reanimated Dead (Book 1): Into the Cotswolds Page 10