Not too long later our friendly copper popped over and invited us over to his camp. It was all very civil here, so it seemed so far. We moved our collapsible chairs over to where he was set up. We made proper introductions this time. He was also a Bryan (but with a Y), his three police mates with him were John, Simon and Kev. The little chunky fella from carry on camping wasn’t here. Turns out he lives in the main B&Q looking building and is called Christopher.
We all spoke in depth about how this whole thing started, turns out they all had no real idea of how it all started either. Just like me most of them had gone to bed and then woke up to the world gone to shit. It just happened out of nowhere. John was adamant that it had something to do with the huge solar flares we had experienced that afternoon, though apart from the news saying it would interrupt tv and communications none of us had experienced anything untoward from them. Didn’t stop John keep saying. ‘I’ve told ya, it was the flares!’ and ‘Mark my words, them flares caused it!’ Especially the more glasses of Port and Brandy he drank.
It went from the news talking about riots in Europe and several minor flight disturbances that they put down to drunken passengers to WHAM! Cannibal time!
The four of them were on duty at the station from day one. In the beginning there were others with them and out on patrol, but with what was happening some officers wanted to go and be with their families and what happened in the next few days they were all that was left of the Dursley Police force. Listening to their accounts of the first few days of the outbreak it sounded like the station was Rourke’s Drift. Although a place of refuge for them and the civilians that sheltered there in the first few days it soon became apparent that firepower alone was not going to save them while the place was almost undefendable. Everyone thinks of a police station as a place of safety and security but in reality, they are made to be accessible and only offer refuge against those that recognise the law and the punishments it can offer. Being accessible means easy to attack and your average career zombie wouldn’t be phased if you threatened it with a shot gun never mind an ASBO and eight weeks community service.
During a lull in zombie activity they all got together, and someone mentioned the school and its fences. A quick vote and a hasty plan drawn up and every car and van were filled with people, food, arms and anything useful and a quick dash to the school was made. To their utter amazement someone was manning the gates of the school in case that exact thing should happen! Turns out that chunky Carry on Christopher was the school caretaker. He had rounded up his family, close friends and acquaintances and took up residency on the afternoon it all started. No fucking about in Christopher’s world then? He may have been a fat fucker, but he was a quick-thinking savvy fat fucker!
So, in the beginning it was the four cops, Christopher and a few of the handy new residents that built all the lookout towers and platforms from pallets, scraps and whatever they could repurpose. Then went onto to work out and develop what can only be described as impressive defence and rotas etc.
Sarah piped up after a few sips of her wine that Simon had given her. She asked about the guys on the blue sports bike. They were Jerry the rider and Damien the passenger. It was mainly due to them that the numbers here at the school had swelled. Thanks to them that some people were carpenters, mechanics, ex forces etc. John drunkenly said it was thanks to them that they also had their fair share of lazy sods but soon shut up after Brian had a quiet word in his ear. She remarked that what they were doing was extremely dangerous and everyone agreed with her but also said they were great blokes.
I had to agree, but I did have a fair niggle about their admittance procedure. I looked at Sarah as I said it. ‘You let us both in on only our word. No actual checks for bites or injuries. One of us could have been bitten and you wouldn’t know it until it was too late.’
They all nodded solemnly. Bryan looked at his mates and replied. ‘We may have been Police officers; we may have weapons and patrol the fences but for all intents and purposes we are Christopher’s guests. He was the first to acquire and secure this place and he invited us in so it’s his rules unfortunately.
Kev chipped in. ‘We suggested the towers, roving patrols, body disposal and a few other things but he likes to be the one who approves admittance.’
I reiterated the fact that he never made to look like he was checking for bites, it just looked like he was playing at it. They all just looked at each other and sighed again. I was just telling them something they already knew, and they had no doubt tried many times to change. ‘One day he will let the wrong ones in and these fences and defences, which are impressive, and you should rightly be proud of them, will protect no-one.’
Bryan started to reply but Kev cut in first. ‘You are right, but as we have said we have tried and tried many times. The thing is…. Christopher has it in his head that he has been chosen to save all of mankind, and although he hasn’t actually come out and said it yet, some people say he thinks of this school as his “Ark” as it were. It’s not only us that have tried to change his mind, others have also tried but to no avail.’
‘Has he made them leave?’ I asked.
‘No, not at all. As I said, he wants to save everyone, even those that don’t agree with his methods. It’s admirable in some ways but it is going to bite us in the arse one day for sure.’ Kev replied before getting back on the bottle of Southern Comfort.
Simon decided to change the subject. ‘What’s with the armour plating on the 90?’
I looked at Sarah. She was sat on the folding chair with her knees up to her chest, hoody pulled over them, hugging them tight with one hand whilst still holding her wine with the other. She shuddered as Simon asked the question. ‘Well…’ I started. ‘we ran into some quad bike riding bandits south of the A38 from here a few days back. We managed to not get fully drawn into their trap but took some arrows through the passenger door just missing Sarah’s legs and some frontal damage in a forced get away.’
‘Sounds quite exciting.’ Said John as he pulled himself up in his chair.
Sarah mumbled. ‘Bloody well wasn’t!’ That raised a huge laugh from all assembled.
I continued. ‘We decided to put some distance and angles between us and the roadblock and ended up at an abandoned garage in Slimbridge. On looking around we found plates of steel and a few sheets of Lexan lying around so we used the tools and took advantage.’ I left out the dead body part. ‘It looked like the people using it before us were using the place to make an armoured vehicle to Rob two building societies in town at the same time.’
All four of the cops looked at each other and shifted in their seats. ‘Honda HRV by any chance?’ asked John.
That’s what their drawings looked like.’ I confirmed.
‘Fuck me!’ laughed Kev. ‘That’ll be the three fuckers that did over the two building societies in town the morning of the outbreak. They were all laughing now.
‘Like any of that money is going to do them any good now.’ Chuckled Kev.
‘Those guys are actually the only people who have been refused entry to this place.’ Bryan said. ‘Christopher refused them entry after an argument and even traded shotgun shots with them! Stubborn bastard he can be, but he has a head for what’s right and what’s wrong that’s for sure. They still cause us problems from time to time, usually by taking pot shots at us in the towers as they drive pass from time to time.’
We all chatted for hours into the early hours about all sorts, even Sarah came out of herself a bit more, though it could have been the Lambrusco wine talking. Firewood from all the trees cleared from the fence line was free for all for cooking, heating or whatever took your pleasure, toilet/shower facilities were even talked about down to what people actually called these things we were now pitted against. Some in the camp called them zombies but most apparently didn’t. Some of them called them TRADs. A shortening of The ReAnimated Dead.
We all called it a night around two am. As we said our goodbyes Bryan and Kev
approached. Kev put his hand on my shoulder. ‘You seem a bit of a handy type mate, do you mind joining Bryan and I tomorrow after lunch? Got something you may be able to help with.’
I Agreed and Sarah and I headed back to our camp. Sarah got up the ladder to the roof tent as I had a pee in the bush behind the old Oak tree. I put some tinder and a handful of sticks into the ammo box stove and lit it. I kicked off my shoes, trousers and hoodie were taken off and folded as a makeshift pillow before I climbed into my hammock and pulled the heavy wool blanket over me. 100 odd yards away I could hear coughing and a few raised words, but my hammock cuddled me to a quick sleep.
Chapter 16
The next morning, I awoke from a fabulous sleep, though fairly early for a pee. As I got out of the hammock in just my boxer shorts and t-shirt, I could feel it was much colder than I thought it would be. Not quite a frost but would be in a few weeks. The little stove may not have given off much heat, but my hammock, bag, mat and blanket system worked fabulously. I put my trousers and hoodie on that had slipped under me over night. They were creased to hell but lovely and warm. I peed in the same bush as last night whilst stretching my back at the same time.
I fancied a wash and a change of clothes but all the kit was in the back of the 90 and I didn’t want to wake Sarah, so I went for a walk to the gates. As I ducked under the tarp, I unhooked my jacket and swung it on.
I was about twenty yards from the gate guard towers when I heard a mocking voice shout out. ‘Hey up guys! Here comes the reason why no-one in camp could sleep last night!’.
‘I was sleep serenading you John!’ I shouted back with a smile.
‘Fuck off.’ Replied Simon. ‘I thought you were spending all night trying to start a diesel-powered chainsaw you were snoring so bloody badly!’
Even fat Christopher, who was sat on his arse drinking something steaming hot from an enamelled mug on the second tower gate, was laughing at all of the banter.
‘Bit bloody nippy to be swinging in a hammock last night wasn’t it?’ Asked Bryan.
‘Well I was nice and toasty before I had to get out for a slash. Got to admit it’s colder this morning than I expected’ I replied back.
‘Still okay for later?’ Kev asked. I gave him a high thumbs up and continued walking.
Walking past the well/standpipe I saw three kids, two girls and a boy all around Sarah’s age, filling containers and bottles, hanging around and having a laugh and joke. I made a mental note to mention it to Sarah when I got back – it would do her good to start mingling with her own age group instead of me.
Shit! The thought hit me! I was having parent thoughts! Only thing I’ve ever been anything near to a parent to was my old dwarf lop ear house rabbit Bruiser and he died two months before the dead got their ‘get out of being dead card’. Besides, if he had still been alive, I’d have probably had to eat him!
Mmmm food. Best grab a good armful of this free wood and get back and cook.
Back at the 90 I had the new firepit going. With the pipe feeding air in at the bottom the fire would burn hot, efficient and low on smoke. The iron pot was lowered down so that the thick metal could warm through and hold heat.
Sarah was up and about. I asked how she’d slept. She said well but that she was hungry. I told her I was going to knock up a treat for brekkie and that she should go and get showered and changed over at the Sports Hall. She shrugged and said. ‘But I don’t have a towel’.
A moment of shuffling about in the boxes at the back of the 90 and I pulled out a microfibre towel and threw it at her. ‘Ask and you shall receive young lady.’ I replied as I bowed in a theatrical way.
Sarah caught it and continued. ‘And I don’t have any Soa . . .’
I had already anticipated her next comment whilst looking for the towel and threw her an unopened bottle of travel body wash, I had taken with my massive haul from the camping shop. She again caught it and shot me a defeated look.
I couldn’t help chuckling. ‘You’ve got an hour before brekkie is ready so there’s no hurry.’
Off she trudged toward the showers, with towel over her shoulder and head hung forward.
With a few supplies under my arm I moved to the roaring fire pit and got started on the surprise brekkie. Four cups of self-raising flour, a few big spoons of sugar and some butter out of the cool box, all of which came from the shop I met Sue at. For a few moments I found myself wondering about how far Sue had gotten before she had turned. I had only known her less than an hour and felt like there was some kind of connection there. Oh well, in another world maybe.
Mixing all the items by hand in a Ziplock bag with a bit of water I then moulded the mixture into a loaf shape before putting it into the pre-warmed cast iron pot. Once in, I shortened the chain so that the pot was still in the heat, but the bread inside wouldn’t burn. Forty-five minutes and it’ll be ready.
In the meantime, I re-adjusted my tarp edges and windbreaks so that my shelter was almost a tent, which would keep the stove heat in a bit better at night.
I could hear humming. I looked around from under the tarp and could see Sarah coming up the little slope to the camp. She certainly smelled of soap, I could smell that even from this distance. Her hair still wet but combed.
‘How much of that soap did you use?’ I asked laughing.
‘All of it’ She replied. ‘It was a small bottle.’
‘It was small because it was concentrated, it should have lasted a week.’ I chuckled.
She went red in the face and huffed. ‘That’s probably why it took so bloody long to wash out and why I smell like The Body Shop!’
Still laughing, I advised. ‘Two minutes to brekkie – it’s a personal favourite that I’m sure you’ll like.’
She went off to hang her towel and a few minutes later appeared with plates and cutlery as I took the pot off the hanger. Taking the top off, I could see the bread had cooked perfectly so tipped it out on a plate to cool for a while.
‘It’s bread!’ She exclaimed.
‘Shhh!’ I snapped. ‘Keep it down. People will think I’m Greggs the Baker!’ We both sniggered. I pointed to the 90. ‘In the first food crate there are jars of jam.’ Her face lit up. ‘Whatever flavour you fancy.’
She came back with a jar of raspberry and I broke the loaf into 4 chunks. Two pieces on each plate and with a knife spread a thick wedge of jam on all of them. Sarah bit into hers and her face lit up.
‘You like?’
‘It’s like cake. I love it!’
‘It’s called damper bread. Australian bushmen used to make it when they were gold prospecting, cattle driving or just exploring. You can make it sweet, with spices, with cheese . . . ‘
‘With cheese?! We’ve got to try that!’
‘Hmmm when we find some maybe.’ Cheese was going to be a luxury if anyone ever found any unspoilt.
After brekkie we cleaned what we had used and hid it all again in the back. Now it was my turn to head off to the Sport Hall showers via the little lane. Once there I reflected that I had been to better maintained facilities at busy festivals – and that was saying something. Perhaps Christopher should swap his gate duty for getting back to his caretaker work. To be fair, the showers were warm and wet enough to do the required job . . . even with just one squirt of travel wash.
As I was drying off and getting re-dressed in the cleanest area I could find, I could hear two blokes having a hushed but heated argument in the opposite corner. Neither of them had towels and were using their sweaters to dry themselves. The larger of the two blokes still had some old dry blood on his back he had missed washing off, but I was sure that wasn’t what the argument was about. Despite the old blood there was no wound or bite marks that I could see on either man though there was some nice blue and purple bruises here and there.
These were dire times and I guess that everyone here at the school had been through some serious shit, seen some pretty nasty things and they were probably just blowing off steam away from thei
r partners or family. I certainly wasn’t going to get involved…. if he couldn’t reach around to wash his own back that was something he’d have to sort!
Walking back with towel over my shoulder and wash bag at my side I felt like a holiday maker on his way back from the swimming pool. Cooking smells filled the air, as did the odd waft of shit. For fucks sake! People acting like animals like this boiled my piss. There was several working, flushing, if not totally clean toilets not thirty yards in either direction. I knew because I had just tested the plumbing in the Sports Hall not ten minutes ago! Glad I took my own roll of soft triple ply sheets though - and that was just to clean it before I could use it. Suppose some people were animals (or just bloody lazy) no matter the facilities on offer.
A motorbike started over to the right of me, revved throatily a few times, lowered then revved again before ticking over and then shutting off. Not stopping, but turning towards it, I saw two blokes with tools messing with it. It must have been Jerry and Damien. I didn’t know which was which anyway plus I had only seen them with helmets on. One of them saw me looking and gave me a thumbs up and an ‘Alright bud?’ Proper Gloucester he was. I gave him a smile and a wave back along with a ‘Good ta mate.’ And kept walking. They were busy and I didn’t want to disturb them.
When I got back, I hung my towel over the ropes that help my tarp. Sarah was led in my hammock listening to a CD on the 90’s stereo. I nudged her arse through the hammock and sleeping bag with my foot. ‘Oi! Don’t flatten my battery.’ I knew it wouldn’t but wouldn’t help conserving power.
‘I won’t, I’m just chilling.’
‘I’ve seen a few kids your age hanging around the water taps over by the Sports Centre. Why don’t you join them and hang around with someone your own age for a while? Be a kid for a bit.’
She sat up, as best she could, and looked at me horrified. ‘I can’t!’ She objected.
‘Why can’t you?’ I asked confused.
The Reanimated Dead (Book 1): Into the Cotswolds Page 13