by Fleet, Ricky
Bracing themselves, they helped Matt step over the cables and coupling mechanism. Dropping down to the side, he landed awkwardly in the prison grounds. “Chew ma banger, ya wee bawheed!” he ranted, the full Scottish brogue taking over in his pain.
“Matt, which way?” asked Holbeck, giving him no time to recover. They didn’t have the luxury.
Ewington expected a furious response, but Matt breathed deeply and fought back the pain. “Through the veg gardens. We’ll pass the gym and reach C wing. It’s the closest.”
“Good.” He pondered leaving Eldridge and Petermann in the turrets to keep the area clear, but without knowing what was going on inside, he needed every able body. “Squad, we’re going CQB. Single column. The asset forms up in the centre. Harkiss, you’re on point! Ewington, your with Eldridge. Petermann, on me. Carpenter, rear guard.”
Eldridge and Petermann were down in seconds, their rifles loaded and armed. Ewington formed up behind Harkiss, followed by Holbeck and Petermann. Matt moved as fast as he was able. Carpenter took position behind, the rifle at low ready.
“Move!”
They moved slowly accounting for the injured man.
“Contact front!” called Harkiss.
“Do we engage, Sarge?” asked Petermann.
Scanning left and right, the zombies were everywhere. “We need a path back. Prioritise targeting of the most mobile. Squad, halt!”
Firing while moving was a good way of laying down suppression, but against the dead it was just wasted bullets. Free to aim, the soldiers killed twenty fully intact corpses who were shambling with inhuman vigour.
“Squad, move up!”
Pausing every twenty yards or so, it gave Matt a few seconds to rest and some much needed opportunity to clear the grounds.
“Magazine!” yelled Harkiss, dropping to a knee.
Ewington moved into position to cover the reload.
“Which way, Matt?” asked Holbeck, picking off a dead nurse. The body count was rising, but their ammunition was depleting, and they weren’t even in the prison yet.
“That’s the gym,” said Matt, pointing to a building besieged by the undead. “Around that greenhouse, we’ll see the end of C block. The emergency exit should be open.”
“Ok, go! Save your ammo for when we’re inside.”
Harkiss proceeded past the glass structure. Thinking it was a bit odd to have such a thing inside the prison, he kept the question for later. One blow with an elbow and the inmates would have razor sharp blades galore. Crazy.
“Sarge, the door’s closed! They must have sealed themselves inside!” Harkiss called back.
The small metal emergency staircase leading up to the three solid doors was filled with zombies on each tier.
“Fuck! Matt, ideas?”
“That way,” he said, nodding south west. “If we go around it we get to B wing. It’s… open.”
Ignoring the stutter, Holbeck acceded and Harkiss forged on. Without any renewed gunfire, the dead at the exits were unaware of the passing soldiers. All they knew in their festering minds was that meat was on the other side of the barrier and they were going to taste it. Lacking understanding of the nature of the reinforced doors, they could beat against them until the end of time and still not make a dent.
“Were they building when it all went down?” asked Holbeck as the scaffolding came into view.
“Not in the way you’re thinking. That’s The Gauntlet; Craig’s answer to our lack of entertainment.”
“I don’t understand,” replied Holbeck.
“You will,” said Matt.
Harkiss ran for the nearest ladder and climbed onto the lower level which was only five feet from the ground. The scaffolding was built to surround the whole wing, and several walls had been removed on the outside, exposing the cells within. Petermann followed, taking up position to cover the hatch above in case anything should come staggering to investigate, and ended up falling through. Matt tossed the crutches up and hopped rung to rung.
“Which way?” asked Holbeck.
“That way,” he explained, indicating the nearest hole in the block wall.
A makeshift frame had been built just inside the ragged opening, secured to the brickwork. Across the ceiling, a set of eye rings and a cable system stretched to the door.
“What the hell went on here?” demanded Holbeck, following Harkiss and Petermann.
Matt sighed, sickened at his own culpability. “We gathered and stored the dead in these rooms.”
“Why would you do that?” Eldridge gasped. “Why put yourself at risk?”
“For entertainment, like I said.”
Ducking through the cell door, the wing was completely deserted. Dark stains covered the floor.
“You fought zombies for fun?”
“We didn’t,” replied the Scot gruffly.
“Then who?”
“The wrong’uns. The molesters. The rapers. The paedos.”
Holbeck was incredulous. “But you and your friends raped people too! How the fuck are you any better?”
Matt dropped the crutches and grabbed Holbeck by the lapels of his fatigues. Slamming him into a wall, the soldiers helmet cracked against the brickwork. “I never touched anyone. You hear me?”
Holbeck stared into the guilty eyes, while his hand ordered the troops to lower their weapons. “Ok, Matt. I believe you.” The words had an authenticity because they were true. Holbeck did believe that the man wouldn’t take someone against their will.
“I never said that we weren’t hypocrites,” Matt muttered, lowering the soldier until his boots touched solid ground again.
“You never put normal people inside?” asked Eldridge.
“Only the screws.”
“The guards?”
“Screws.”
“We should leave you here,” said Eldridge, keeping the rifle trained on Matt.
“Lower your weapon, Private. That’s an order.”
Eldridge glared at the hulking prisoner, before slowly complying.
“We don’t have time for this shit, so cut it out!” Holbeck raged. “Matt, where now?”
“Through those gates,” he pointed to the other end of the wing. “That takes us to the guard station. The old seg wing is below ground.”
“Ok, form up and move out.”
Matt picked up the crutches and joined the column, avoiding eye contact with Eldridge. Deep down he knew the fiery soldier was right, and it hurt worse than any gunshot wound.
Chapter 22
“What do you want to do, Len?” asked Big John as the echoes of gunfire faded.
Lennie watched the pair of heavy armoured vehicles drive off, leaving half a dozen of their number by the shattered wall. The group was dressed ridiculously, with sections of copper attached to their clothes. He almost laughed until they waded into the dead without hesitation. Slaying them by the dozen, they fought as one unit, guarding each other in spite of their wanton slaughter. His disdain for the group disappeared. Whoever they were, they were fearless.
“We could take them all out if you wanted,” he added. “There’s only two soldiers. If we pick them off first?”
“And bring down the heavy guns on our heads?” Lennie replied.
Big John wasn’t afraid of anything, and that sometimes made him a liability. If they attacked and the others returned and fired on the treeline with the HMGs, it was all over. The thick trunks would provide no cover. The slugs would cut through them like paper. They would be torn to pieces.
“Leave them. If they want to get killed over some scumbags, so be it.”
“Who are they, though?”
“Could be anybody. It’s not as if we were quiet earlier.”
“You don’t think they’re connected to the prison?”
“How the fuck do I know, John? I’ve been enjoying the show, just like you. They could’ve been on patrol, I don’t know.” He didn’t believe it, though. They moved with purpose, as if there was something valuable within. The captives?
Possibly. But that meant that the group had knowledge of the prison and its workings. It was a fact worth remembering.
“We need to tell Mrs Hampton.”
“Yeah, we do. Listen, I think it’ll be worth opening the caches and bringing some of the heavier stuff out of storage. A couple of dozen AKs, a few RPGs.”
“You expecting a war, Len?”
“Not really. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared, though.”
“I guess not. Shall I send a few of the guys off to do it while we take the brothers back?”
“Yeah.”
“What about them?” John asked about the four prisoners hurrying away in the distance.
“Leave them. They’re as good as dead.”
“Are you coming?”
“I’ll be along shortly. I want to see how they get on.”
Chapter 23
“Gaz, was it?” asked Jonesy.
“Yeah,” he replied. Returning his attention to the road, he walked on.
“How far is it?”
“Not far.”
Jonesy was tempted to press further, but the distress bubbling beneath the surface wouldn’t take much to explode. Looking back at DB, the other soldier offered a weak smile. The survivors would have to work through their grief in their own good time. It was no different to the war torn provinces of Afghanistan following an IED or failed mission. Numbness set in. A sense of detachment, akin to an out of body experience. The empty bunk in their quarters. The pictures of a loved one smiling that would never see the face that brought such joy again. Then anger, fury, a need for retribution. Glancing from face to face, they were currently numb. Not quite believing they had survived, and wondering if they should have bothered.
DB was following up the rear with the boys. They shielded the children while the adults began the long process of acceptance. Forming a semi-circle, they broke away and destroyed any creature that presented itself. Most of the rotting locals were either at the site of the chaos, or heading that way. Fortunately, the latter hadn’t crossed their path in any great number as yet.
“It’s just around the corner,” said Gaz, his voice flat and lifeless.
“How do you know if it’s safe?” asked Jonesy.
“We secured it a while ago.”
“Ok, mate.”
Jonesy scanned the abandoned streets. Further down the long road, a huge Tesco store came into view. “Looks like a good place to stock up on food. Local too.”
“Too many of the dead,” replied Gaz. “It’s not as if they want the fucking food either. They just won’t leave.”
“They prefer it fresher,” muttered Emma.
“There it is,” said Gaz.
The pub came into view. Like a fortress in its own right, the ring road surrounded the imposing structure like a black, tarmac moat. Three floors of solid Victorian construction, with high set windows, soaring chimney stacks, and THE CROWN mounted in golden letters above the front door. Metal shutters covered every window, both upstairs and down. A heavy steel gate had been bolted to the brickwork to secure the entrance. A victim of the changing tastes of society, it now provided a sanctuary, becoming useful one last time.
Gaz wandered off without saying a word. Jonesy was close to calling him back until the man knelt at a drain, lifted the grate clear, and retrieved a key from inside. He glanced around with concern on his face, searching for something. Or someone. Shaking his head in disgust when he realising caution no longer mattered, Gaz stood up and joined the group.
“What was that all about, mate? What’re you looking for?”
“It doesn’t matter now, anyway. They’ve killed us.”
“Your friend Irish mentioned something along those lines. Who’re you talking about?”
“He wanted to tell you. He’ll be here soon.”
“It’s the Nowhere Man,” whispered Tara.
“Men,” whispered another small child.
“That’s enough, both of you!” Emma scolded.
DB shrugged when Jonesy pulled a face. Childhood fantasy or stark reality? Hopefully Irish would have the answers.
Releasing the padlock, Gaz pulled the heavy steel bars away from the shuttered door. With the second key, he unlocked the mortice lock of the main doors and threw them open. Mustiness and the smell of inns across the world washed over them. Despite being teetotal, Jonesy felt comforted by the scents of their old world. Sipping on a lemonade while his friends got wasted, the feeling of community and belonging transcended the foregoing of shared inebriation. Being sober also helped to keep the more rambunctious members of his squad from getting into trouble. Namely Harkiss. The phrase “lover, not a fighter” could have been coined for him. He was far more adept at throwing cheesy chat up lines than fists. Generally a flurry of apologies was enough to defuse any trouble as they pulled him away. Failing that, a growl from DB generally ensured the peace. Except for the most drunken of patrons, whose alcohol inhibited forays into violence often caused more damage to themselves than their chosen foe.
Seeing everyone safely inside, Gaz pulled the gate shut and looped the unlatched padlock through the staple. Jonesy ushered him past into the darkness and kept watch through his scope from the shadows.
“Through here,” said Gaz, leading the others around the main bar into the restaurant area.
“Shame it’s not called The Winchester,” said Winston.
“What?” replied Gaz, firing up two halogen lanterns.
“It’s from a film. You know, go to The Winchester and wait for this all to blow over?”
“This isn’t going to blow over, kid,” Gaz snapped. “It’s already over. Everyone’s dead!”
Winston realised he wasn’t helping the situation and retreated to a corner.
“They’re fried, mate. Maybe keep the observations to yourself,” DB warned amicably.
Winston sat down with a sigh. The last thing he wanted was to add to their woes with his choice witticisms. Zipping his lip, he turned the lock and handed the invisible key to the soldier.
“I’ll keep it safe,” said DB, pocketing the valuable in his combat fatigues.
“Does anyone want a proper drink?” asked Gaz, making himself busy in the gloom of the bar.
Surprisingly, out of those who could answer, none did. Not even a swift tipple to take the edge off of their recent encounter. Pouring himself a hefty treble of vodka, he downed the alcohol in one hefty slug. Bashing the shot glass on the polished bar, he winced at the loud crash. Looking at the two soldiers, tears formed in his eyes. Gagging once, his chest heaved. Gagging a second time, the fiery liquid gushed from pursed lips into the waiting sink.
“I’m sorry… I… I don’t…”
“It’s ok, mate,” said Jonesy, moving to help him. “Come and sit down. Take a load off and let us keep watch, ok?”
Gaz could only nod weakly.
“What now, brother?” asked DB as the stricken man slumped in a window booth.
“We wait for Irish and Greasy.”
Chapter 24
Irish took a long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a thick stream. His fingers trembled as he took another puff. Whether it was from grief or hatred, Jonesy couldn’t guess. He and Greasy had returned minutes ago, covered in a lot more gore, but empty handed. The biker disappeared inside and hid himself away, trying to process the loss of whatever lady he had gone in to find.
“Who did this?”
“Do you know how many people we lost securing the estate?” Irish replied, ignoring the question.
“No.”
“Twenty two. We were lucky that the dead were drawn towards the town centre where it was all kicking off. It would’ve been all of us if we hadn’t had that day and a half to build. The night was the worst. The streetlights never came on for some reason, even though the electric was still working. With all the other houses dark, the dead could get to us before we knew they were there. We could see the orange glow from the fires raging in town, but the flames weren’t str
ong enough to reach us. I sent out four people to turn on the lights in the empty homes. You know, to try and at least give us some vision. Only one made it back. He’d been bitten.”
“I’m sorry.”
Irish lit a second cigarette from the glowing tip of the first before grinding it out beneath his boot.
“We were lucky, really. We watched the TV, hoping for good news. All we saw were countries falling, going dark as the dead ate everything. I put out a call on my HAM radio. Gail and Don were on the other end. Others responded too, but they never made it to us. Things quietened down for a while and we thought the worst had passed. Yeah, the zombies were wandering around, but if we were careful we could scavenge for what we needed. We had a little community.”
“Are your family here?” Jonesy asked.
“I’m divorced, no kids. The ex-wife took me to the cleaners, even though she was the one to cheat, can you believe that shit? I lost my house, half my pension, most of my savings. I was sleeping on Greasy’s sofa while her new boyfriend moved in. To my fucking house! That I’d fucking built!”
“That’s harsh, mate.”
Irish looked at Jonesy. “She phoned me on the day it all went to shit. She was terrified. Geoff had been bitten and turned. Do you know what I did?”
Jonesy shook his head.
“I laughed and hung up.”
“She’d betrayed you,” offered Jonesy.
“And I killed her. Not by my own hand, but I could’ve gone and helped.”
“You saved a whole estate full of people. Who’s to say that if you’d gone off on a rescue mission, they wouldn’t have all died.”
“I’ve tried to convince myself of the same thing. It’s bullshit. Truth is, I enjoyed hanging up. I took pleasure in imagining her face as Geoff came for her. It’s crazy when you consider I loved the bitch at one time in my life. I think I still did, even as she died.”
“We’ve all done bad things to survive, mate.”
“I know. It’s a different world now. I still can’t help but feel that this is my payback. Karma looked me up and found me wanting. Badly.”