Michael was in his mid-forties and had become the leader of this small community. He was a farmer, his late wife had been the head teacher at St. Joseph’s before she succumbed to ovarian cancer a year before the plague. He was known and respected in the village for being brave with a level head. Michael had led many an expedition beyond the safety of the school, scavenging the abandoned homes, farms and cars for anything of use. As the weeks had gone on, the success had dwindled. As a farmer, he had already been thinking ahead. Ten chickens and three cows provided milk and eggs, animal feed was easy enough acquire, having been ignored by most looters. He had already planted a large vegetable garden, but that would take time to deliver a regular source of subsistence. Michael knew they’d have to move out further to get the supplies they needed to get them to the point of being self-sufficient. He also knew the risks. Like everywhere else, they had suffered losses. Those losses felt more personal to such a small village where everyone knew everyone else. They weren’t just neighbours; they were friends. Some died at the hands of the infected outside of the village, others left with the military. All now were assumed lost. The thought of losing more friends kept Michael awake at night, failing to act now when they were fit and healthy would condemn them all further down the line. He had decided he would take Jake, one of his former farm workers and the son of the church’s vicar, for his next foraging trip to a nearby village. Jake was in his early twenties and extremely capable. A crack shot with any rifle or shotgun, he was an asset protecting the group and providing wood pigeons, bunnies and squirrels for the pot.
They emptied the Range Rover, just the Ruger 10/22 rifle, a hatchet, and the two men. They didn’t intend on fighting and needed maximum room for whatever supplies they might find. A few concerned faces saw them out of the gates. The Range Rover didn’t waste any time on heading out of the village, and the school gates were quickly secured behind it.
The next village was several miles away, the roads were narrow and unloved, some didn’t even appear on any maps. Anyone unfamiliar with them would just as likely turn back looking for a major road as they would brave the unknown tracks that could lead anywhere. Michael and Jake didn’t have those fears, they knew these roads well, but Jake still held the small rifle close in case a horde of feeders waited around the next corner.
The car pulled up outside of the village and both men left the safety of the vehicle and looked forward. They could see Thornhurst had fared worse than Nutwood. It was treble the size of their own village, but it was a wreck. They didn’t need to enter to see the burned-out buildings, rotting fleshy skeletons on the streets and the creatures slowly shuffling or swaying on the spot.
“I can do it Mikey, there are only a dozen or so. I can ping them from fifty yards and we can move in,” Jake urged. Jake was enthusiastic but impulsive. Michael wasn’t open to taking such a risk, there was nothing but death and destruction in Thornhurst and he would not risk this kid’s life here.
“For the dozen you can see, there are another dozen you can’t. At best, you’ll use fifty rounds of twenty-two before we have to withdraw, at worst they will overwhelm us. We’re not going in. Not today. There’s a series of houses on the London road heading out of Thornhurst, we’ll head through Simmons’ land. It’ll be fine,” Michael responded. Michael had scavenged enough houses to know that they would likely find a few tins of food, a defrosted freezer of rotten meat, and maybe some pasta and rice. It might get them another day, and every little helped.
Jake wasn’t about to ignore Michael, he respected and trusted him. If he said no, it was a no. The men got back in the car and slowly reversed up the narrow track to the field’s closed gate, and Jake hopped out and opened the gate as Michael edged into the overgrown grass. Jake had followed behind the Range Rover, rifle in hand, treading carefully through the field, wary of his footing. The hum of the diesel engine masked the groan ahead, Michael in the cabin couldn’t see what was lurking in the long grass, Jake too was oblivious. Half way across the field, the car jolted as it drove over a bump, following closely behind Jake looked left and right, but failed to look down as it grabbed him. The Range Rover had crushed its ribcage, but its hands and teeth were still fully functional. Jake first thought was he snagged his foot on the pushed down grass, only when he heard it growl he knew he was being attacked. He looked down, and its face was angry, dried blood decorated its grey skin as it tried to pull Jake towards it. Panicking, he fired twice at its flattened torso, with zero effect. Michael barely heard to the pops of the rifle, but they were enough for him to check his mirror as he saw Jake fall to the floor. He slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car with the hatchet in hand as he rushed to Jake. The creature was on top of Jake and he couldn’t get the rifle back into action, instead using it to keep the feeders teeth from biting down on him. Michael slammed the hatchet into the back of its head, stopping its attack immediately. He wrestled the hatchet free and Jake threw the battered corpse to the side before Michael helped him back to his feet.
“Are you okay? Did it bite you?” Michael patted Jake down, checking him for a wound.
“No, I’m fine. I’m fine,” he insisted. Jake wasn’t sure himself, but didn’t feel any pain as the adrenaline rushed through his veins.
“We won’t tell your dad about this.”
Jake nodded in agreement as the pair got back in the car, eager not to make that same mistake again. When they got to the edge of the field, Michael hopped out to open the gate. This field was much larger, and the first house on London road was just about visible in the distance. They both stayed in the car as they drove. This field wasn’t overgrown, the grass was more mossy than tall. A few carcasses and bloodied clumps of wool were all that remained of the sheep who had grazed here. They were cautious. Despite his camouflaged green fatigues, they both spotted him. Lying on his back staring up at the sky he barely moved, he was bloodied and beaten; he was surely either a feeder or about to become one.
“What should we do?” Jake’s instinct was to help this man, but he hadn’t got over his encounter.
“Stay here with the rifle, I’ll check it out.”
Michael again left the safety of the car with the hatchet in his hand and slowly approached the man. Visibility was better, and he was certain he wouldn’t be grabbed by an unseen, undead foe or jumped by a group of survivors desperate to steal supplies. The man was a soldier, even laying on the ground he looked like a giant, his eyes were closed and he shivered, his black skin wasn’t tinted with grey. If he was infected, it was recent. One of his hands was missing, the stump covered in a bloody rag, Michael edged closer and gently tapped the man with his foot, ready to bring the hatchet into play if needed. Nothing. He gave a firmer, harder kick and nothing. He looked around to check and he could see figures ambling towards them around half a mile away. “Jake, bring her up,” Michael said. He knew they couldn’t hang around.
Jake shuffled across into the driver’s seat and drove closer to the pair.
“He’s alive, he’s human. I’m not sure he’ll make it, but we need to take him back to St. Joe’s,” Michael relayed. Michael was a decent man, he couldn’t leave this poor soul to die in this field.
“We can’t go back empty-handed, they’re depending on us.”
“This big lad is hardly empty handed. Who knows what he can tell us,” he stated. Michael grabbed the man under his arms and signalled for Jake to help him, which he did. He was mostly muscle, a big lump he was hard to carry, but they got him into the car’s large boot, dragging him across the ground with minimal bumps.
Chapter 12
Out of all the classrooms at St. Joseph’s, this was the smallest and had received the least love. The paint on the walls, the carpet tiles and frosted single pane windows had remained the same for over thirty years. The room had in recent years been repurposed as a storage area, no longer seen fit to play a direct part in the children’s education. Once the outbreak hit and the school became the haven for those who remaine
d, it was cleared and made habitable in case they needed it. Until Michael and Jake had rescued Kenneth, the room had remained empty. Now, a simple bed, a few chairs and a table had been setup. It wasn’t much, but it felt safe, safer than Kenneth had felt since he left Wellworth. He had enjoyed the prospect of getting out and doing some soldiering, now he was happy to be somewhere warm, dry and surrounded by people who had no interest in trying to eat him.
Jake watched over him, rifle in hand, ready to strike if the large soldier caused problems. They hadn’t dealt with many outsiders and did not understand what to expect. Dr James Fredericks wrote on a notepad as he sat in a well-worn chair that had been liberated from the school’s staff room. Like him, it had seen better days and in better times wouldn’t be called into service. The doctor was nearly eighty years old; he had been retired in the village for twenty years after serving as its GP for another two decades. Known and loved by all, he couldn’t leave when the army started evacuating civilians. He had enjoyed a good life and if just one person stayed in Nutwood, he would have stayed to help them. As the only medically trained person left in the village, his knowledge and experience was invaluable. Without him, Kenneth would have had a rougher road to recovery. Dr Fredericks had expertly cleaned the wound at the stump, tended to the sprained ankle, and applied an IV drip and antibiotics.
Kenneth had only been at St. Joseph’s for a few days, but he was looking nearly like his old self. If it wasn’t for the missing hand and limp, you would be hard pushed to guess what he’d been through. Still stiff and sore, his strength had returned, and the painkillers given to him had numbed much of the pain.
“Kenneth, I’m happy to clear you, but I’m sure you understand we need to assess you in non-medical ways,” came the doctor’s voice. The doctor was kind, but Kenneth knew he wasn’t in charge, his fate was still to be decided. The young man with the rifle made that clear.
Michael entered the room and signalled for Jake to leave, but Dr Fredericks remained seated. He approached Kenneth and offered his hand to shake.
“Hi Kenneth, I’m sorry we’ve had to keep you here, like this. I’m sure you understand that trust is a hard commodity to give away freely these days, and we have people who depend upon us,” Michael explained. Kenneth shook the hand and nodded. “James, the doc, has said you’ve made a good recovery, and he’s happy that we can talk,” he said and looked over at the doctor who gave a shrug and a weak nod. “I’m Michael, we brought you in. First, you’re safe with us. I understand you’ve been through a lot out there and we’re happy for you to call St. Joseph’s home for as long as you need or want to,” Michael smiled, he was welcome, but another mouth to feed wasn’t ideal. Two further trips out had offered only a meagre selection of supplies. He hoped Kenneth might have information on where they should look, or perhaps even be able to offer the help of his military colleagues.
“Thank-you,” Kenneth replied. And he was thankful, but he knew very little was free in this new world and trust was a two-way street. Only a few days ago, his trust in humanity cost him his hand and nearly his life.
“I’ll cut to the chase. When we found you, we were scavenging for supplies. We have little knowledge of what has been going on beyond our own village since the outbreak. We know it’s bad, but we have kept ourselves to ourselves, but that is increasingly not an option. We need your help, any information you may have. Our supplies won’t last more than a few weeks,” Michael informed him. He prayed this man might be able to help.
“Everyone’s hungry, both the dead and the living are facing a dwindling supply of suitable food. We all need to eat, but you need to be careful. It isn’t just them and us, there’s something else, something that can’t be trusted,” Kenneth said and raised his stump. “I’ve seen three types of them, the stupid ones, the big bastards, and her. If you reach out and touch the world, eventually it’ll touch you right back.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but we won’t have to worry about the dead when we’ve run out of food,” Michael was keeping on message. There was a lot he needed to know, but food had to be their priority. “We know the local area, but we don’t know what’s out there. For us to survive, we’re going to need to reach out.”
“You don’t understand, they look like us. She was walking, talking, she even fucked a guy then ate him,” he responded. His passion was to be expected after his ordeal.
“We understand, we need to be careful, but we need food. Can you help us?” Michael pleaded with Kenneth, they didn’t need him to go out on patrol, they just needed some information.
“I can show you two locations I had gathered supplies, you can’t have them all, but I can provide you with some as a thank you for your help. The rest I need to get back to my men. They’re starving too and I’ve been gone far too long.”
“Are they near?” he asked. Michael was interested. The military perhaps hadn’t fallen as the broadcasts had suggested, but it was obviously weak.
“Lewes.”
“That’s not too far. Help us gather up those supplies and we’ll get you a working car and you can go back to your men, stay with us or even bring your men here if you prefer,” he replied. Michael was happy with all those scenarios, the idea of soldiers providing protection was enticing.
“Take me back to where you found me and I can lead you from there,” Kenneth said. Kenneth was ready to leave at that very second.
“The day after tomorrow,” the doctor stated. Dr Fredericks had been sitting quietly, listening, but he didn’t need to get involved until he could hear his patient being coerced into leaving. He rose to his feet, but his eyes didn’t leave his notes. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. “He’s not going anywhere until I say so, and I won’t say so for two more days.”
Michael looked at the doctor, then Kenneth who confirmed his intention. “I need to get back to Wellworth.”
“Young man, you are no good to us or your friends if you pass out and become a feast for one of those damned fiends. You will continue to rest, then when you leave the safety of our home, you might not die,” Dr Fredericks explained. He kept his authority even after all these years spent in retirement, tending to his garden. Kenneth nodded in reluctant acceptance.
“Kenneth, you’re welcome to explore our home and we can answer any questions you may have. You can meet some of our people and see what we have to offer. Jake can show you around,” he promised. Michael opened the door and smiled, Kenneth wandered out and was met by Jake.
Michael closed the door behind them and stayed with the doctor. “You’re happy that he’s not infected?”
“I can’t see any evidence of it. Apart from the minor injuries and the lack of a left hand, he seems healthy. I have little experience diagnosing the dead, but you should make sure Jake isn’t too far from him, just in case. If he’s fine in two days, I think it’s safe to say he’s clear.”
Chapter 13
The house was set in the middle of two other similar looking ones, alone along a dirt track surrounded by fields and a scattering of small wooded areas. It was not particularly big, nor interesting, or of any note, but the buildings were remote from any habitable areas. The Range Rover pulled up out front and Jake hopped out of the back passenger seat and opened the gate, letting the car onto the driveway. With the gate closed, Jake jogged to the car as Kenneth and Michael climbed out. All three were armed, Jake with his rifle, Michael a shotgun, and they had given Kenneth a hatchet. Kenneth’s British Army Land Rover was still abandoned at the side of the house, covered in dry gore and two flat tires. It had been lucky to make it this far before Kenneth had to leave it behind.
“That’s got about a quarter of a tank of diesel if you’ve got something to siphon it with,” Michael nodded as he stepped towards the front of the house. “The door isn’t locked, a firm shove should do it,” he said. Kenneth stepped aside and once again, Jake stepped up and obliged. It popped openly cleanly, with much less effort than Jake had expected, nearly sending him tumbling in
to the building. He regained his balance. The three men stepped back and paused for a moment. They listened intensely for a possibly lurking creature, but nothing.
Michael led the way, his shotgun ready to blast a hole in anything that may have sneaked into the house. Kenneth had already told them he’d stored everything in the back upstairs bedroom, and after a quick check of the downstairs, they cautiously made their way upstairs. The bedroom door was open, and Kenneth dreaded what they’d find.
“Fucking hell,” he exclaimed. Kenneth hadn’t been here for over a week, but someone had. The room had been looted. He’d scavenged dozens of ration packs, tins of food, slabs of chocolate, packets of soup, and bottled water. Now a slab of tinned sweetcorn, a few sachets of soup, and a half-empty bottle of sparkling water was all that remained. “There was more, much more than just some fucking sweetcorn.”
Deadweight | Book 2 | The Last Bite Page 4