by Fleet, Ricky
“What happened at the estate?”
“They didn’t want anything, that’s the worst thing. They just wanted to watch people die.”
“Who’s they?”
“One of the children called him the Nowhere Man, and it stuck. She was with her mother on watch on top of one of the coaches. I know it seems rough to have children so close to the zombies, but it was our way of desensitising them to the way they looked and smelled. She made a comment about how we couldn’t go near the dead, but there was nowhere the man outside couldn’t go.”
Jonesy frowned. “You’ve lost me.”
“The mother thought the girl was just using her imagination. Looking where she was pointing, there were only zombies. Hundreds of them. We all agreed, figuring the poor kid was just suffering because of the horror… She wasn’t. I saw the first of them in the third week. The guy was stood slap bang in the middle of a huge swarm of the dead. I could tell he was alive as he didn’t have that grey, slimy look to his skin and his eyes were clear, a dark brown. He was just staring at me, totally unfazed and untouched by the corpses. He smiled at me, and it was the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jonesy was dumbfounded. It just wasn’t possible. “How can that be? They try to tear us apart as soon as they see us. He should’ve been dinner.”
“I know. I almost convinced myself that I was going crazy too, until he took off his baseball cap and doffed it like he was a fucking Victorian gent saying “how do you do”.”
“What did he look like?”
“I’d guess about five foot ten. Same build as me. Bald, with an awful scar on the top of his head. Have you ever seen the pictures of the people who have a section of the skull removed to let the brain heal? You know, following an accident?”
Jonesy cast his mind back. “I think so. It looks all sunken in.”
“Exactly! He had that stretching from here,” he pointed to a spot on his forehead above the right eye, to the crown of his scalp. “to here.”
“Did it look fresh? Could he have got it during the outbreak?”
“No, from what I could see it was well healed.”
“An old head injury then?”
“That was my guess. How the fuck that meant he could walk among the dead is anyone’s guess.”
“We’ve got a doctor back at the castle; Gail and Don’s daughter, Christina. She might be able to shed some light on it.”
“The others I saw had fresher wounds.”
“Others?”
“Another man, much bigger. And a woman.”
“And they had the same scar?”
“Nah, it was fresh. They were all stitched up, like it had happened recently. The wounds weren’t that livid, and their hair was at least a half inch long around the close shaved part near the wound itself.”
Jonesy mulled the information. “On average that’s about a months’ worth of growth. So they were injured after the first guy?”
“Injured?” Irish shook his head. “I think they had it done to them. They moved freely among the zombies too. Not a single one so much as sniffed. The bigger guy even slapped one of them as if to prove the point to me.”
“This is insane…” Jonesy whispered.
“We never fucked with them. I even tried offering to trade with the first guy when he came back. He just smiled again and shook his head.”
“You weren’t expecting the attack?”
“The first we knew the dead were inside was when the screams started. By then it was too late. They’d brought thousands with them.”
“I really am sorry, mate. I can’t bring your friends back, but I can keep you and the others safe. The castle’s impregnable. Stone doesn’t burn, and I’ll gladly put a bullet through that wanker’s smiling face if he ever shows up.”
“I appreciate that. How do you propose we get to your home? My people haven’t had much sleep with all that’s happened.”
“We could stay here for a couple of hours. Let you all rest and move out early-afternoon.”
“Would it be better to wait for tonight? Move in the dark?”
“With the kids, I’d rather do it in the light. We can see threats coming a mile away, less chance of panic.”
“Ok. Sounds good.”
“What’s the plan, boss?” asked Greasy, emerging with a double shot of whiskey. His eyes were red and raw, but he wouldn’t show emotion in front of the others.
Irish hugged his friend, causing him to spill some of the brown liquor. “We get a few hours shuteye and move out after lunch. Even if the adults don’t get much kip, I want the kids to be fully rested.”
“They’re pretty jazzed. Even if they get to sleep, they’ll be having nightmares for weeks,” Greasy replied, sipping from the glass.
Irish ruffled in his pocket, withdrawing a white medical bottle. “Grind a quarter tablet up for each of the younger ones. A half for the teenagers. It’ll knock them out until we’re ready to go.”
“What’re those?” asked Jonesy.
“Sleeping pills. I was having trouble after I split up from the missus.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if we need to leave in a hurry before this afternoon?”
“I didn’t see the fuckers during the attack,” replied Irish, lighting another cigarette.
“Or on our way back here,” agreed Greasy.
“Is it worth the risk? Just laying down in the dark will help, even if they can’t fall asleep. They can get a proper nights’ rest once we’re safely inside the castle.
Irish considered the point, then nodded. “Ok, get everyone settled and lower the lanterns. I’ll keep a watch for the first half hour, then you can take over.” Turning to Jonesy, he said, “Would you mind doing a watch with some of your guys?”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll get the boys to do a stint each after that.” Jonesy looked at his watch. “That should take us to half past one.”
“Where did you dig the kids up from, anyway? They don’t give a fuck about the zombies. Even I keep a respectful distance unless I have to kill one.”
“Their family moved across from Emsworth, through Chichester, finally to Arundel. On foot. With nothing but choppers, and a shotgun with a couple dozen shells.”
“Holy shit,” Irish gasped.
“Tell me about it. They’re fearless.”
“And a little bit crazy,” said Greasy, appreciatively.
“If anyone would know crazy, it’s you, mate,” chuckled Irish.
“In this shit, I think we’ve all gone a little crazy,” agreed Jonesy.
“I’m sorry how I went off to the kid. What was his name?”
“Braiden, and don’t sweat it. That boy’s been through Hell, and that was before the apocalypse. He’s a rough diamond. A real warrior.”
“Even so, when we get out of here I’ll take him to one side and apologise personally.”
“I know he’d like that. In spite of his gruff exterior, he has an unbreakable code that makes him a solid ally. You’ll be glad to have him in your corner.”
“I kinda sensed that,” Irish replied. “Get some sleep, both of you.”
“Wake me whenever you’re ready,” said Greasy, downing the Scotch.
“I’m a light sleeper,” said Jonesy, moving towards the restaurant. “Any trouble, just shout and I’ll be there.”
“Will do. And Jonesy?”
He turned to face the burly builder.
“Thank you. I know we’d all be gone if it wasn’t for you guys.”
Jonesy smiled wanly, leaving the man to his mourning and cigarettes.
Chapter 25
“It’s locked, Sarge,” said Harkiss from within the gauntlet’s holding area.
“Blast the lock, we don’t have time to find another way around.”
“Roger, Sarge.” The team moved to either side of the entrance, backs to the wall. Harkiss carefully aimed at the lock housing. The first round hit, sparks flying. The second round destroyed the inner workings and the door
creaked open. Holbeck held them back while he carried out a recce. Terrified prisoners were running around like headless chickens. Sets of keys could be heard jangling. They were trying to seal themselves in.
“Idiots,” mumbled Matt.
“What?”
“The only keys left that open the cells and wings are locked in Craig’s safe.”
“How do you know they haven’t got inside the safe?” asked Holbeck.
Frantic cursing from the key bearer answered for him. “They don’t fucking fit!”
“Try another,” said another voice.
Matt raised an eyebrow to say you see.
“Now we’re in the lion’s den. Watch your battle partner’s arse like a hawk. We move unseen and use the shadows.”
Taking the lead with Matt, Holbeck followed the limping prisoner. Security checkpoints were all open. Offices protected by reinforced glass were empty. Every able man was likely at the doors, trying to hold back the dead. The darkness was nearly absolute without the overhead lights working. Thin slits of high set safety glass let in a few scant slivers of winter light. Decades of budget cuts had left the panes filthy from lack of cleaning, lending the rays a murky edge.
“Down there!”
A pitch black staircase went down into the bowels of the prison. “Torches on.”
The Virtus helmet LEDs lanced through the darkness, revealing nothing.
“It’s clear. Rear teams hold position. Harkiss and Petermann, clear the bottom.”
Staying to the right, they descended. It gave them a wider field of view of the passage as it opened up as well as allowing Holbeck and Carpenter to cover the opening from their elevated position.
“Clear!” Harkiss shouted. “There’s a locked door, Sarge.”
Holbeck turned to Matt. “What can we expect? What’s the layout?”
“It’s one small wing with ten cells to either side. Nonces on the left, normal people on the right.”
“Any way out?”
“Only these steps.”
“Good. Wait here, I don’t expect you to hop down after us.”
“I appreciate that, lad.”
Running down the steps, Harkiss and Dougal lowered their rifles as the sergeant crossed the line of fire and moved to the door.
“Private, we may need to blow this lock too. Be ready,” ordered Holbeck.
Banging on the steel with a clenched fist, he heard movement on the other side.
“Who’s there? Identify yourself!”
A panicked mumbling was all he could make out.
“Identify yourself! This is the British Army!”
The mumbling changed to a sharp intake of breath.
“We’re here for the civilians. Open up or we blow the fucking door!”
Expecting to be ignored despite the threat, Holbeck heard the clank of a released lock. A solitary face peered out as the door swung open, squinting at the harsh glare of the helmet torches directed at him.
“Name?”
“Perry, sir,” he whispered.
“You’re a con?”
“Yes… Yes, sir.”
“You were keeping them locked up?” Holbeck spat, raising his gun, ready to carry out an unauthorised execution. Three others whipped up, making it four dark barrels promising eternity. The man went a paler shade of white, gulped once, then fainted. Crumpling to the ground, Perry’s head connected against the door with a dull crack.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Holbeck admitted, shaking his head.
Shouldering his rifle, he marched forward and grabbed the shirt collar. Pulling the man back to the foot of the stairs, Holbeck called up to Matt.
“Friend of yours?”
Matt turned and looked. “Perry. A short timer. Nice kid. Bit dense.”
“Was he involved in the rapes?”
“Not that I knew of. He was as scared of the women as he was of the prisoners.”
Holbeck called over Harkiss and Dougal. “Get him topside and roused. The cell block is empty, so Carpenter and I will handle it.”
“We’re saving inmates now, Sarge?”
“Only those who get Matt’s ok.”
The Scot nodded down in gratitude. For the first time in years he was being treated as a valued human being.
Holbeck left the others to wrestle the unconscious body up the stairs. Pulling the keys from the lock, he moved cell to cell, opening the doors. Terrified faces cowered in dark corners.
“Carpenter, explain the situation. You’ve got a better way with words than I do.” Holbeck moved on.
“Hey, we’re here to help,” she assured the occupants, her voice warm.
“It’s just another trick,” sobbed one of the victims.
“Just leave us alone,” whispered one of the children.
Carpenter moved inside and smiled, but the people shied away, terrified. If they could have achieved the feat, they would’ve backed through the stone and out of the world entirely.
“It’s no trick. We’ve come to save you, but time’s running out. The prison is full of the bad things.” She didn’t say zombies. The children had seen enough horror.
They all closed their eyes, as if not seeing Carpenter would mean she didn’t exist.
“Please,” she implored.
The eyes stayed screwed shut.
Holbeck was halfway down the wing. Opening the next door, a man was laid on the thin mattress, holding a woman tight. Several others took shelter beneath a blanket, as if the thin rag could keep them safe. Frowning, Holbeck started to move on.
The first cries of fear carried down from the prison wings above. They were rapidly running out of time.
Moving back to the cell, he said in a voice as soothing as he could muster, “Folks, you need to come with us. We’ve got somewhere safe to take you.”
“We thought this place would be safe. We were wrong,” said the skeletal man.
“The place I’ve got in mind is completely safe. There are good people there.”
“There are no good people, any more,” he replied, holding the trembling woman tighter.
Giving up on them, Holbeck pushed on. Unlocking the rest of the doors, he didn’t waste time engaging with the prisoners within.
“Sarge, what do we do?” asked Carpenter.
“Let us out!” shouted a man from the other cells.
Despair faded as revulsion flowed through Holbeck. Children! Who does that to fucking children? They were less than human.
“I’m talking to you!”
Throwing back the viewing hatch, Holbeck aimed the rifle at the man’s face. “Shut your fucking mouth or I put one through your face! Do you understand?”
The paedophile ducked out of sight.
“Sarge?” Carpenter held her arms wide, all out of ideas.
Take them out at gunpoint? Or drag them out. That was a sure fire way of ensuring mission failure. Spend a week convincing them using an as yet undiscovered psychiatrist to unpick the brutal treatment at the hands of the inmates? A week? They would need years.
Fuck!
Maybe it was useless. Maybe they were already too far gone. Would bullets be a mercy in place of teeth? Holbeck looked at the lethal weapon in his hands and counted the rounds left.
“If only we’d asked the names,” he muttered.
“What do you mean, Sarge?”
“They have no reason to trust us. I didn’t even think to ask their names.”
“What about…” she left the last word unsaid, pointing up towards Matt.
Holbeck shook his head. Seeing one of their captors would only exacerbate the situation. “What did Jodi say the guy’s name was? Jason?”
“Yeah, Jason Rechtman,” agreed Carpenter. “Why don’t we try and find him?”
“In this mess? There’s no way,” replied the sergeant.
“What did you say?” asked the man from the darkness of the fifth cell.
“Jason Rechtman. He’s the guy Jodi met at the tunnel a few weeks ago. Do y
ou know him, sir?”
“I’m Rechtman,” he said, stumbling out into the passage. “Did you say you were with Jodi?”
“She’s fighting outside the walls with Kurt and the others. We’ve come from the castle.”
“The castle?” Jason staggered forward. Grabbing at Holbeck’s uniform, he slumped. Helping him upright, the man weighed nothing. Holbeck could feel the protuberant ribs and lack of meat through the thin, filth encrusted shirt.
Holbeck rolled the dice on the truth. “Matt Hay helped us to find you. He’s been our guide in this place. He’s upstairs, wounded.”
“Clarissa?” Jason croaked.
“She’s fine. She’s waiting for you.”
The shuddering woman emerged from the cell. “They made it?”
“He nearly died getting her there, but they made it.”
“Oh my God, Jason. Is this a dream?” she sobbed.
“No dream, ma’am. But we really need to move. I can have you and your daughter reunited within the hour, I promise.”
“We really need your help with the others, though,” explained Carpenter. “They won’t move.”
“My name’s Sally, Sally Rechtman. We’ve been hurt so much. The bastards actually played a trick on us just like this, unlocking the cells and taking us out into the yard pretending we were being rescued. The prisoners all thought it was hilarious.”
“Those days are over, I promise. They’re getting paid back in spades.”
A gurgling scream pierced the near silence.
“Good,” said Sally, some life back in her voice.
Limping back to the end of the block, she cooed and cajoled those inside to move. Seconds passed and Holbeck thought she had failed. But then a child stepped out, followed by another. Soon, the civilians were all on their feet, waiting. Doing a quick head count, there were close to fifty. Holbeck almost asked about the others, considering there were meant to be nearly a hundred. He pulled Jason over and whispered it. The engineer could only shake his head.
“Please help us,” whined the child molester.
Holbeck fought every urge to open fire on the door. Instead, he let out a shuddering, rage filled breath, and tossed the keyring through the small hatch.
“What do you want me to do with these?”
“Whatever the fuck you want. Let yourselves out and fight for your freedom, or stay in there and die. I don’t care.”