Deadweight | Book 2 | The Last Bite

by Forster, Paul

  “Did someone surprise you for a change?” the soldier asked, amused by what he had heard.

  “Something like that. When are we getting off this shit hole?” Mason asked. He walked ahead of his shadow, a devious smile spreading across his face.

  Chapter 32

  Natasha was sitting on a picnic blanket reading in the small walled off garden to the side of the old house. Since society fell and she no longer needed to hunt for her dinner, there was remarkably little to do. William had provided everything for her she could need, but when he took himself away to his lab, she was bored and lonely. He didn’t have many rules, but he told her not to enter the laboratory, it was so close she often thought about sneaking a peek, seeing if one of the old barn’s blinds had been left open so she could see what was happening. All William had told her was he was working for the future, their future, and his important work was close to its objective. Natasha had come close to breaking this rule frequently, but never saw that it was worth the risk, so she continued on her own whilst he worked. It was a good life, but a dull one. Natasha had spent many years not leaving her flat, watching TV and wasting time on social media. There was no internet anymore. They had a TV and DVD player but watching the same seven films again seemed a waste of fuel for the generator. The collection of books at the house had mainly belonged to William’s mother, nothing had been published within the last thirty years, and were romance or fantasy books. Not at all to Natasha’s taste.

  She thought about going for a walk on her own, beyond the boundary that William insisted they respected. The local village was only a few miles away. She surely could find a few magazines, some newer books and perhaps a couple of DVDs. She stood up and looked around, weighing up her options.

  “Fuck it,” she muttered to herself, almost in anger. He would be gone for hours, even if he popped his head out of his lab, she’d claim she’d just gone for a walk. William was so wrapped up in his work and her body, that he wouldn’t notice a few new films or books.

  *

  Thornhurst would have been a pretty village before the outbreak. It was a good size, with tea rooms and antique shops dotted between the village store and the local pub. Now it was a wreck, bodies on the streets, stripped of flesh, buildings burned out or partially demolished, cars on their roofs and the feeders. A handful dead on the floor and several slowly wandering or standing still, waiting for a meal to present itself. Natasha entered the village without a care in the world. The dead didn’t acknowledge her as she walked past them towards the village store.

  The store had been the first to have been pillaged, food and medicines ripped from the shelves, but she wasn’t looking for tins of beans or paracetamol. A feeder stood between her and the magazine rack, not wanting to get its blood or gore on her, she walked around it carefully. No one had stopped to pick up their lifestyle magazines as they fled the oncoming disaster. Natasha picked a copy up of each magazine from the limited selection. She’d rather read about gardening techniques than revisit the farmhouse’s collection of fiction again. The film shelf comprising two DVDs, one they already had, and a big budget action film from a few years ago. It was better than nothing. The only book was one on the local history of Thornhurst, not a big book, but some new words to read at least. She had hoped for more, but for her first solo trip out, this was a success. She helped herself to a strong bag from behind the counter to carry her spoils and exited back out onto the high street.

  She walked down the high street, stepping over rubble and bodies, looking for anything that might take her interest. It had been a month since she had freely walked the battered landscapes of the new dead world. This time she wasn’t hungry, she wasn’t hunting for flesh. She saw the world differently. Before William, before the fresh supply of meat, the death and destruction she witnessed was just the cost of doing business for being a creature who fed on the living. Now it was different, she felt something she didn’t think she was capable of feeling anymore, she almost felt regret. This tiny village had probably been here in some form for hundreds of years, some of its population no doubt descendants of the earliest villagers. And now it was a wreck. The villagers, either dead in the street, evacuated or wandering it with less colour in their cheeks than they used to enjoy. It was just as well they didn’t see their home in its current state.

  The village pub, the Plough, had fared better than most buildings, it was an old-looking pub with plenty of charm and character. Natasha hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since society fell. It didn’t do much for her anymore, but what better way to end her visit than a quick drink in the local? The door was stiff, but a good shove made it pop open.

  Like the village store, the Plough had been thoroughly looted. Furniture knocked over, broken glass across the floor, a fruit machine had been toppled over on its side, its contents of pound coins spilled out across the floor. Hope of a drink was looking remote. The fridges behind the bar were empty, but Natasha hoped maybe a bottle of wine might have survived. She’d have settled for a warm can of cider.

  Natasha hadn’t seen the two men, but they had seen her when she first walked into the village. They couldn’t understand why the dead that had stalked them didn’t pay her any attention. Maybe she had been cured or immune to this damned plague. Kevin and Jules were in their twenties, they weren’t originally from Thornhurst but found themselves in the small village after fleeing London. They had rarely left the confines of the big smoke before the dead starting attacking the living. They had briefly been guests at a small rescue camp before it fell and they had escaped. At that point they decided they’d stick together and away from the authorities. When they reached Thornhurst, they looted what they could before sealing themselves in the pub. The idea had been to only stay a few days then move on, but neither could face it. The longer they left it, the more they believed the number of feeders had increased, even if the number had remained near constant. It was far easier to wait another day than make a dash for it. They were trapped and their food perilously low, the small amount of stashed alcohol they had discovered gone leaving them with nothing to numb their fear.

  They hoped this woman would visit the pub and help them. They had unbolted the door in anticipation and hid more through habit than having a plan. Kevin and Jules crouched behind the bar, slowly becoming aware that they were about to surprise a woman who may well be armed.

  Natasha was about to hop over the bar when she caught their scent. It had felt like a long time since she smelled a free human. “Can I help you guys or are you going to continue hiding?” she asked. There was an awkward silence before Kevin stood up slowly, hands raised. Jules hesitated, but a nudge with Kevin’s foot prompted him to stand. “What are two handsome chaps like you doing in a shit hole like this?”

  “How did you get here, past them?” Kevin squeaked.

  “We saw you, they didn’t pay any attention to you, did they?” Jules added.

  “Hi, my name is Natasha. It’s kind of hard to explain how I can get past them, but you have to trust me,” she replied. They didn’t have any idea what she was, and she would not tell them.

  “Jules, that’s Kevin. Can you show us?” he nodded his head as he introduced them.

  “No. But I can help you,” she said. She could help them, there was plenty of food back at the farm, she didn’t need to kill them for their meat. She quickly decided to help them leave the village. If they succeeded she’d decide on whether to eat them. “What do you have in the way of weapons?” she queried. Jules produced a small hatchet and Kevin picked up his homemade spear and held up a small knife. “No guns?”

  “Just these,” Jules confirmed.

  Good, if she desired, they’d be easy enough to take down.

  “You ready to go? Better to head off now so you’re not stuck in the middle of nowhere in the dark if we do make it out,” Natasha said, she was interested in this distraction, but didn’t want to push her luck with William. As much as she’d liked to have stuck around to play, sh
e didn’t want to spend too much time away from home on her first trip out.

  “Can’t we come with you?” Kevin asked, assuming they would travel together back to her camp.

  “Maybe, maybe not. I guess we’ll see how you behave,” she smiled devilishly.

  The two men looked at each other. If she got them out, they’d behave however they damn well pleased. “Let’s get moving,” Jules chimed in. He was sick of that stinking old pub, sooner they were gone the better.

  “Wait here and I’ll be back in a few,” Natasha said. She took the small blade from Kevin with a smile and left the pub.

  “What do you reckon?” Kevin breathed a slight sigh of relief that finally, they may escape. It lasted a mere second before the prospect of walking down the street with the dead dawned on him.

  “First woman I’ve seen in weeks, and she seems up for it. I was considering fucking you,” Jules smiled.

  “Mate, she’s into me, you can go second,” Kevin played along.

  “Let’s get out of here first, then we can decide on the order,” Jules said and tried to look out onto the street, but was careful not to draw attention to them.

  The pair sat down and waited for Natasha to return. They had nothing left worth taking with them besides the clothes on their backs and the weapons in their hands.

  She was gone less than two minutes when the door swung open and a feeder strolled in. It instantly caught sight of its prey and lunged towards them. Kevin and Jules fell back as they tried to scurry away. It didn’t get close before it dropped to the floor, the small blade embedded in the side of its head. Natasha closed the door and stood over her kill, the grey flood dripping onto the floor.

  “There’s your knife if you still want it.”

  “What the fuck was that about?” Jules was angry, was she trying to kill them or was she just messing around?

  “You want to walk out of here in one piece?” Natasha snapped back.

  Both Kevin and Jules nodded.

  “Start slavering that grey crap on you, avoid eyes, mouth and broken skin,” Natasha advised. She kicked the corpse as if to assure them it was still dead. “It’s not perfect, they can tell the difference if you get too close for too long but we won’t linger.”

  “How come you’re not covered in their blood?” Kevin asked, sceptical, and not very keen on getting the thick grey blood on him.

  “I have a different method, but we don’t have time for that,” she revealed. Natasha was eager to avoid questions.

  Jules didn’t have the same reservations. A quick pause to slam the blade further into its head to confirm it wouldn’t suddenly attack and he got to work. He flipped the body over and cut into its clothing, revealing more of this pale grey skin. The flesh separated easier than he thought it would, the internal organs either black or darker shades of grey. This creature was old, and not a lot of flesh remained on the bones. Jules began rubbing blood onto his clothes and exposed skin.

  “This without a doubt is one of my worst ever experiences. Ever,” he complained. A little of the blood went even further than he had hoped. “Come on Kev, can you do my back?” he asked. Kevin nervously complied then started on himself.

  After a few minutes they were done, the blood smeared so thinly it was barely visible. Natasha inspected the two men, subtly given them a sniff, trying to detect their humanity. It was definitely still there, but it was much weaker than before. The plan should work.

  “Let’s go then,” Natasha ordered and took the lead, Jules was suddenly less confident this silly blood idea would work and Kevin didn’t trust Natasha or the plan. The absence of a better idea forced the two to follow Natasha through the pub door back out into the village.

  Kevin and Jules kept with Natashas relaxed pace, the creatures paying them little attention. It was working. They had to fight every instinct they had not to run, break into a sprint and get the hell out of this godforsaken village. As they passed the decomposed corpses laying on the street and the greying one’s shuffling about it was nearly too much. After what seemed like hours they were free, the five-minute slow wander from the village saw them now at the top of the main road looking down on that place. Both men were relieved, they’d made it, but now what?

  “So can we come with you?” Kevin was back on his most pressing point, somewhere safe to stay.

  “You’re nice lads, but you don’t want to come with me. My boyfriend, William really wouldn’t like it. Head down this road and you’re bound to find a farmhouse or barn before dark that you can rest up in,” she said. Natasha had done her good deed, redeemed a small amount of her humanity, but she was done. It was time to head back home.

  “You can’t just leave us here!” Jules grabbed Natasha. She was obviously doing well, and he wanted what she had. He didn’t want to scurry between abandoned villages and towns, hiding from those fucking creatures and struggling to survive. She didn’t have much meat on the bones, but this girl was healthy and happy, a rare combination.

  Natasha looked down at his hand gripping her wrist. The ungrateful little shit. “Let go of me, now!” she commanded. Jules didn’t budge. She was holding out on them. He would not let her run to her cushy life whilst they struggled to survive. Natasha pulled her arm away, but Jules pulled her back. They both stopped their tug of war and she looked him in the eye and smiled. “Let go, I won’t ask again.”

  Jules smiled back. “Take us with you or I’ll break your fucking legs and leave you to those things.”

  Natasha had finally had enough. She had tried to be good, tried to be kind, and help these poor stranded boys. Redeem a little of herself for all these wrongs. But this fucking prick, it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted it all. She relaxed her arm in his grip, moved closer to Jules, and whispered in his ear. “I know what you want,” she teased. She kissed him on the mouth, then his cheek, and down to his neck. Jules winked at Kevin with a smile. Then the smile turned to shock.

  Jules tried to push Natasha away, but her teeth were firmly clamped on his jugular, her arms hugging him tightly, her strength greater than he expected. The best he could manage was to topple both of them to the floor, with Natasha on top of him. “Kev get her off me!” he begged. His words were already failing. Jules reached his hand out and tried to speak again, but only a spluttering of blood passed his lips.

  Kevin stepped forward, his spear nervously raised, not ready to do what was needed. Natasha turned around quickly, her face soaked in blood. “I was going to let you both live. This is your fault. Not mine!” Natasha spoke. She licked her lips. “Run or die.”

  Kevin didn’t need telling twice, he ran as fast as he could, glancing back frequently to make sure he wasn’t being pursued. Natasha wasn’t wasting her kill. It had been the first in a long time. As much as she enjoyed the good life at the farm, getting her hands and teeth dirty on warm flesh straight off the bone felt good. William would be pissed if he found out, but she’d deal with that later. Right now, she’d gorge herself on this moron and enjoy every bite she could manage.

  Chapter 33

  He wasn’t sure if they’d already been advised of their impending evacuation or whether they too might be sacrificed alongside him. Screams and shouts had become more prevalent in the last few hours, with the odd gunshot thrown into the mix. The three men were in their bunks, each keeping quiet but ready to spring into action if trouble came to them. The soldiers both gripped their loaded pistols, safety off, ready to defend themselves. Mason too had his weapon to hand. The tip of the blade rested on the bulging mass above him as he tried to decide on the place to thrust it. Starting at what must be the soldier’s lower back, he slid the blade up until he reached what he believed would be the soldier’s neck.

  He hesitated. Once he plunged the blade through the tarp, he’d have milliseconds to strike again if his first blow wasn’t effective and then deal with the soldier in the lower bunk before he could retaliate. Placing one hand on the base of the handle and aiming with the other, he plunged t
he large blade up and into its target. The body above convulsed and the trail of blood gushing down the blade confirmed he’d found his spot. If the bastard hadn’t flung his pistol off of the top bunk as he bled out, it wouldn’t have happened.

  Mason heard the shots before he felt them. Two rounds passed through his own piece of tarp, the first striking his buttocks, the second grazing his rib cage. He didn’t give himself time to feel the effects of the wounds. Instinctively he rolled off the bed, landing on the metallic floor with a thud. He could see the pistol being pointed towards him and he didn’t think twice. The large blade swung towards the outstretched pistol and struck the wrist with force. The hand was nearly severed, only skin and tendon kept it from falling to the floor. The impact turned the hand nearly 180 degrees back, momentarily pointing the pistol at the shocked soldier before it dropped to the floor.

  Anyone else near who hadn’t already run away, made it their business to get away from this conflict as fast as possible leaving the men alone.

  Mason sat up. But now he could feel the bullet. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t feel pain in the same way anymore. “When are they coming?” he asked. The smell of the blood filled his nostrils.

  “Fuck you,” he sneered. Fear and shock weren’t enough to dull his hatred and defiance.

  Mason grabbed the hand and twisted it off as the soldier rived in pain. The injured man pulled back his stump and held tightly as it bled profusely. Mason could not help himself as he stuck a finger into his mouth and stripped it of its flesh. That’s the stuff, fresh, healthy, and warm. A few chews and he swallowed the delicious meat. “When are they coming?”

  “Fuck you, monster!” he cursed. The soldier produced his own knife, and he threw himself towards Mason. The seven-inch blade was big, but was dwarfed by the fat 11 inches one on the Bowie. Again the soldier came off second best as the larger blade flashed across, this time taking the second hand off completely. The soldier slumped to the floor, balled up, holding his wounds close to his body.