The Reanimated Dead (Book 1): Into the Cotswolds

by Wakefield, Trevor

  I pushed the door open and hobbled out into the corridor. I didn’t have time to cock and load the crossbow, so I held it like a club in my left hand and drew out my shot gun pistol with my right. I had hobbled just a few steps forward when the glass doors shattered, and four zombies suddenly emerged behind me. They moved no faster than normal but with this bloody cramp and restrictive mask on, maintaining normal walking pace was a challenge. I got out to the custody area and felt suddenly held back. I swung the crossbow around behind me and struck a zombie between the neck and shoulder – it put him down but not out. Looking up the corridor, I could see daylight. My leg was spasming again, but I was hopeful I could make it. Wrong! I slipped on the debris on the floor. I tried to get up, but my leg couldn’t bend. A female zombie in uniform was bearing down on me. I raised my right hand, with shot gun pistol, and took the side of her head off with one cartridge. I managed to shuffle backwards on my arse for a few meters, raised the gun again and dropped the one behind her. Managing to get to my feet I made it through the door to the disabled ramp. As the mask design- and the fact it had been knocked all over the place made my view pretty shite, I felt for the right-hand railings before flinging myself over them. At the same time, I was removing the mask and helmet. I left them on the floor as I gasped fresh air and normal vision resumed. The 90’s driver’s door flung open and as I unceremoniously threw myself in, whilst still trying to stretch my leg (almost impossible in a 90), Sarah leaned across me and bolted the door shut. She was about to speak when there were several bumps and thumps at the back. My idea of using the 90 to block the ramp had paid off. Four zombies were now clawing at the back door and trying to bite the spare tyre.

  ‘Well?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Fucking cramp!’ I replied.

  ‘Duh! I can see that. I mean what did you find?’

  The cramp was subsiding. I shrugged off the backpack and she straight away stuck her nose in. I pulled out the radios and extra pepper sprays.

  ‘Not a lot then?’ she commented once she saw it all.

  ‘No. Certainly not worth the risk to be honest.’ I left out the bit where my own complacency almost got me killed and I changed the subject. ‘We need to hide these guns etc before we get to the school.’

  ‘Oh! Oh! I forgot to say.’ I looked at her expecting something important. ‘That motor bike that gave us the envelope went past again.’

  ‘Towards where we are going?’ She nodded. ‘Did it see us?’ She shook her head.

  ‘No, they didn’t slow or even look in this direction.’

  ‘Why didn’t you beep the horn like you were supposed to?’

  She nodded back towards the police building with its blaring fire alarm. ‘I didn’t think you would hear it over that.’

  Fair one, I had my hands full at the time I suppose. I removed the shot gun pistols and their holders from my belt kit, reloading them as I placed them with the pump action behind the seats and under a blanket and rucksack.

  My belt kit now just contained a sheath knife and machete. Being the UK, nobody would be in the least bit suspicious if we said we didn’t have guns anyway. The thumps and scratching continued at the rear of the 90 as we sorted our shit out and the cramp finally disappeared. We were less than half a mile from the school now by my estimation and we would be there in just a few minutes. As I started the engine up the activity at the rear increased. I just ignored it and off we went.

  Chapter 15

  Driving lefthanded out of the police station I had a running commentary from Sarah about how the first left hand estate was a no-go area and that at the roundabout the next left-hand estate was also a no-go area. She was laughing as in brackets someone had written (and always was).

  Righthanded was a small parade of shops starting with what looked like what was once a grand pub emblazoned with Sky TV banners for sports fans. The doors and windows seemed intact, there may even have been survivors inside. Next were three takeaways, a car parts store and a news agent next to a good-sized Lidl supermarket. Looking left showed what looked like a brand-new fire station, though I saw no engines inside its large doors. No doubt Sam and Elvis were either zombies or zombie food about now and it was probably that little ginger git Norman Prices fault. It always was!

  I Slowed as my human Sat Nav sat next to me told me that the next left was our destination. With four zombies in front of us and the sliding heavy gates I slowed no more, just lined them up and hit them with the front of the 90 as I had done so many times before. Three skulls cracked and three tattered bodies were duly rolled over. The fourth was knocked onto her decaying arse but was still determined to get her mouthful of flesh. She dragged herself up but before she could turn around and zero in on me, I was already out of the 90 and part way through my killing swing with my machete. It buried itself in her head and I let her fall with it to the floor. Sticking my boot on her left cheek I took the handle and pulled it back out, shaking off the blood and blonde hair as I did so.

  A voice above me said. ‘Nice moves there. If that had been four or five weeks ago, I’d have arrested you and probably made the national news!’

  Looking up to a platform to the left of the gate I saw a tall Lean figure, wearing some police clothing and a tactical vest with MP5 slung across his chest and a 9mm handgun in a drop leg holster on his right leg. Looking closer I could see that he was on one of two fortified and covered lookout towers either side of the heavy gates. He must have seen me looking at the weaponry. ‘We don’t waste ammunition on them unless they cause a direct threat, I’m afraid.’

  As he stood there the gates started to slide open and a scruffy, portly chap with a full length double-barrelled shot gun came scurrying out. He passed us and walked out onto the road, looked left and right a few times and turned back towards us. Must keep up with your green cross code I suppose. ‘Any guns, rifles, or firearms of any sort?’

  It spoke. He sounded and looked like the ground’s keeper from Carry on Camping without the tweed bucket hat, but I also noticed the copper watching us closely as he asked.

  I gently waved the machete in the air and did a twirl as I answered. ‘Just sharp and pointy metal mate.’

  He approached the 90 on Sarah’s side. ‘Any bites or injuries?’ We both shook our heads. He turned around, lowered the shot gun and walked back inside indicating that the gates should be opened. I wasted no time in jumping back into the 90 and following him in. No sooner had we cleared the guide rail for the gates than they closed behind us with a muffled thud. The copper was down from the lookout tower and indicated for me to stop.

  Sarah looked worried. ‘He knows we have guns.’

  ‘Shh.’ I snapped. ‘It’ll be fine.’ I reached over into the glove compartment and pulled out the magazine I had recovered from the burger king brothers. I gave Sarah a look that said. ‘Don’t worry, but keep your mouth shut for the moment.’

  I exited the 90 again with it still running and walked around to the passenger side where he was waiting. ‘Everything okay?’ I asked confidently.

  ‘Yes mate.’ He replied with a genuine smile. ‘Just to let you know that the car park is rammed and turning into a bit of a shit hole to be fair, so I’d park up there if I were you.’ The copper pointed to a slight grass hill about a hundred and twenty yards away from the car park. ‘It’s where me and a few ex cops are parked along with a few other four-wheel drives.’

  I Reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the magazine of 9mm bullets. ‘Cheers. Here, I found this a few days back, the gun it was from was FUBAR, but I kept the magazine. No good to me but I’m sure you guys could make use of it?’

  He took it with another genuine smile. He waved it as he spoke. ‘Good man, cheers for that. Every round counts now, that’s why we didn’t drop your welcome committee. That and you didn’t slow down too much.’ He chuckled. ‘They aren’t a danger to us unless they get in.’ He must have seen my face drop as he said that as he reassured me. ‘Don’t worry, none have. We have an eigh
t-foot-tall metal spiked fence and a four-foot-wide, four-foot-deep concrete culvert in front of that all the way around.’

  He patted me on the shoulder and waved the magazine in thanks again. ‘I’ll see you both later, settle in and have a good wander around.’ Then walked back to his place on the watch tower.

  We drove and parked up where he had pointed us to. There was a Police liveried Defender 90 and Police Mitsubishi L200 double cab, a battered Range Rover Classic and a Suzuki SJ on steroids parked atop this little hill. All with tents and gazebos erected in between them along with oil drums partially buried to make fire pits.

  It took me a couple of tries to park exactly the correct distance I wanted from a huge old Oak tree much to Sarah’s amusement. I deployed the roof tent for Sarah then rigged up a hammock and a 4x4 meter flysheet between the oak and the 90’s roof rack for myself. Sarah now understood why I had been so anal about parking but kept taking the piss.

  I hammered in two old style tri coloured nylon wind breaks between the Oak tree and the 90 on both sides of the hammock and tarp set up. Primarily for wind stopping and partly for some privacy. I set up a small wood burning stove that I had made years ago from an old ammo box with a short chimney. It would work on small branches leaves and paper scraps and was plenty man enough to cook and provide some warmth, though a bigger one was on the cards. Two folding chairs for Sarah and me, then a bit of guffing around in the back of the 90 arranging my kit and new acquisitions. Sarah was up in the tent faffing around too, so I decided it was time for a wander around the camp.

  I already had a few concerns straight away. Firstly, we were let in on just our word that we had no firearms and that we weren’t infected. No physical checks on either us or the vehicle. We could smuggle someone in easily. Secondly, the Cop seemed too confident in the fence and its ability to keep us safe. So, I was going to look myself.

  The place was so much bigger than it seemed from the road and the map supplied by the bikers didn’t do it justice. The fence was indeed 8 foot high, spiked and very sturdy. The culvert outside was also bang on as described – 4-foot-wide and 4 foot deep. As I walked around, I checked that it was clear of any blockages such as branches, old shopping trolleys and the usual piss stained mattress that somehow always ends up in an empty skip or halfway down an alley way. It was spotless. Raised platforms were dotted along the fence line all the way around and although not equally spaced they were all well within sight of their neighbours. They were strongly built and looked dry and comfortable, which would mean whoever was on lookout would likely remain dry and comfortable too rather than spending time moaning they were wet and cold.

  From what I could see, each post had radios, binoculars and high-powered lights. I made a mental note that when back at the 90 I’ll have a sneaky listen in and get an insider view of what is what. All the guards were armed too. Mainly rifles and shotguns (mostly double-barrelled), but also some MP5’s which were obviously from the police armoury. I was impressed and agreed with the copper on his assessment of the perimeter defences, but the vetting/admission procedure required some work.

  The school had, having been recently re-built on an old site, banks of solar panels on the roof, wind turbines and more panels on the back meadow. An old well had also been uncovered and was providing backup water to the soon to die out mains pressure. The car park at the front and the rugby field had become a tent and campervan city. The tennis courts and 5-aside pitches were unused but were surrounded by a 12-foot chain-link fence.

  Several outbuildings were sat away from the main buildings but seemed unused. Everyone seemed to have their own area for cooking etc. so it did have that kind of Shanty Town feel about it, but no-one was eyeballing me. That might change if anyone finds out about mine and Sarah’s food stash. I made another mental note to ask about the food situation when I got the chance.

  I found out that there were toilets and shower/washing facilities that bordered our own fence. It was a Leisure Centre but to keep it from impacting on Security, a lot of the rooms in it had been permanently blocked up. A lot of thought had gone into keeping it useful whilst not creating a breach point.

  The main building looked like a B&Q DIY store but there was something about the people coming in and out of it that didn’t make it look too inviting.

  I got back to the 90 and found Sarah asleep in the hammock. I shook it and she rocked and rolled around laughing but didn’t fall out of it. She still called me an asshole but we both saw the funny side of it. I gave her a heads-up on the place, on what I had seen and what I was going to ask out friendly cop and his mates later. I wanted her to feel safe here but also be cautious, especially when it came to the food situation. For now, I had to sort my bed out. Although the hammock was up, I hadn’t decided on my sleep system. If I was to sleep in a nylon hammock with a blanket on top, then I would lose a lot of heat under me. I could put a sleeping bag inside, but experience told me it was a pain to get in and out of. A cheat, and one that worked fantastically for me, was to thread the hammock through the foot of the sleeping bag all the way through and tie the hood of the bag at the other end of the hammock. This would essentially cover the outside of the hammock and I could, if I wanted, zip it up over me. What I was going to do though was use it to insulate me from the air below, put a ¾ length Thermarest matt inside the hammock again for insulation and a bit of shape, so I wasn’t completely enveloped. I’d then use a heavy blanket over me when required. This way I could get in, be warm and snug and more importantly get out without too much faff and bother.

  Once the bedding was sorted, I climbed into the 90, grabbed a police radio and turned it on. Didn’t even have to mess around with the channels it was that easy. Listening in reminded me of being a young lad in the mid-80s. I had a small, and I do mean small – 2.5” black and white mobile TV, radio, alarm clock. It had no pre-sets or press buttons it was all tuned in on an analogue dial on the front with a little wheel to move a marker up and down the frequency range. I soon found out that on a certain part of the scale (quite far down the frequency range) you could pick up police signals with all the beeps etc. I also remember that reception was much better on cold, crisp, frosty nights. I felt like that kid now as I hid listening to this lot. I listened for almost an hour without even realising. They would all report in every ten minutes with a coded call sign regardless of what was happening, they described and reported each zombie they saw (even if another checkpoint had already). To me that was a pretty smart idea tracking their movements, but it also meant one of the towers must have been a HQ recording all these details. The times of sightings also seemed important. The guards it seems must be authorised to take a shot to take a zombie out. They also have clear up details for those that are taken out or hit by the front of a Land Rover on their way into the compound. I heard a three-person team use a quad and a trailer to move the four I killed earlier. Seems there used to be an old gas works to the rear and down the hill from the school. None of the tanks were left there but the circular brick foundations were. Seems they would throw the bodies in with whatever rubbish and shite that they clear from site and the culverts and burn the bloody lot every now and then. Very neat and tidy. All of this was pretty interesting stuff but stuff I’d have to keep to myself about knowing about for now.

  That night our meal was corned beef and Uncle Bens sauce. Tasted much better than it sounded honestly. I wanted to stick to the cans and jars now as they weren’t that easy to hide from prying eyes compared to the camping meals. I didn’t throw the jars and cans away either, the glass jars and tops I kept in the 90, the tins I cut the top and bottoms off then cut the cylinder so it would make a flat piece. These flat pieces could become usable in the future for all sorts. Imagine a roof made from tin can shingles/tiles or for patching holes in a boat, an exhaust repair, fishing lure, the list could be huge.

  All the paper off the tins and jars etc I kept to one side in a little pot, we weren’t always going to have dry wood to burn so any ignition s
ource/tinder such as paper would be worth its weight in gold.

  The ammo can stove did its job for our dinner and will be great tonight, but we needed something a bit bigger for the two of us and some of the meals I had in mind to cook.

  I left Sarah digesting the gastronomic delight I had cooked and headed over to the edge of tent city. While passing there earlier I had noticed that the edge of the field was a bit of a rubbish tip. It didn’t take long to find what I was after, a slightly dented 15litre palm oil tin.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Sarah asked when I got back.

  ‘Well the little stove is ok for water and a few small meals here and there but not for the meals I have planned for tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ She asked excitedly. ‘What’s that going to be then?’

  ‘Wait ‘til tomorrow.’ I smirked.

  ‘Bloody knew that was coming.’ She scoffed and slumped down in one of the folding chairs.

  I got a folding spade out and dug a hole ¾ the depth of the tin. A length of 2” pipe I also found I pushed into the ground at an angle so that the bottom of the pipe appeared into the bottom of the large hole and 3inches or so remained above ground, put two half bricks either side of the pipe in the bottom of the hole and then went to work on the big can. I punctured the bottom about twenty times with a large diameter screwdriver. The top was next to be cut off, then bent some mesh to create a lower shelf which now stood off 3 inches from the bottom. I lowered the tin into the hole and loosely filled in around it being careful to not fill in the bottom where the pipe was then laid some tinder and kindling on the mesh and then rested the top back on the tin to keep it covered. It was under the tarp, but it wouldn’t hurt in keeping it all dry, three longish sticks to make a tripod, bit of chain and my cast iron pot and we were on our way to becoming a witch’s coven.