Deadweight | Book 2 | The Last Bite

by Forster, Paul

  The lower arm was quickly passed through to the feeder, who couldn’t help itself. The meat had passed the taste test. Now the really big question, would it cure the feeder? FatBGone had an unexpected consequence of not leaving the body and thriving until the person became a monster like these poor bastards, slowly taking over their behaviour. Making the victim a slave to its desire to feed and spread. William believed his cure would leave the system. It targeted the microbe, devouring it before it would effectively eat itself. His tests with the solution on blood samples had been promising, and from what he could see from the boy, it worked as planned. That’s not to say he had any intention of risking it on himself until he was sure. He would no more eat the cured flesh than he would inject the solution into his arm. He didn’t want to be human again; he had no intention of risking that outcome. He had a basement full of fresh meat. He had months before this long-term solution would be needed and a world full of test subjects.

  *

  Natasha had a small bowl of meat that she was picking at like popcorn, as she watched her big budget action film in the small living room. It was late and William hadn’t shown his face all day. It was unusual even for him, but over the last week he had become increasingly distant. When he wasn’t in his lab, he might as well have been for all the interest he showed in her. He entered and sat himself next to Natasha. He smelled of the lab. And something else, something equally artificial but not familiar.

  “Good day, dear?” Natasha was more than a little sarcastic.

  “Same as usual, darling. Just chipping away. How did you get on?” he asked, caring little for a response.

  “The same, just stayed in the garden and did some reading.

  William looked hard at the TV. They’d both watched every DVD multiple times, and he’d not seen this one. “New film?”

  “I don’t think so, dear. I found it behind the TV, it must have slipped back there,” she replied. It was a weak lie, but it hardly deserved a bigger one.

  William sat back and zoned out as a series of explosions rocked the screen. Both were oblivious of what the other had done that day. Not that they wanted or felt a need to share, they were content. It had been a good day for very different reasons.

  Chapter 36

  The prime minister waited in number 10 for news of the mission. She had expected word from the team over an hour ago and was growing increasingly impatient. The whiskey had been poured twice, and she was about to help herself to a third wee dram when there was a knock on the door. “Enter,” she barked out the order.

  In entered her most trusted advisor, who she had recently promoted to an official liaison role. He wasn’t a military man, in an expensive tailored suit rather than an officer’s uniform. Appearances were important to Gerard, he knew how to play to a crowd; he knew how to kiss an arse. He didn’t get to where he was by being the best; he was there because he made others feel like they were. He had often lurked in the periphery, unnoticed by most. Since she had been promoted to the position of prime minister, he had been by her side, making himself invaluable to her. He observed and reported back in private. His information and manoeuvring were one of her most important assets. He ruled the shadows and wasn’t comfortable with his new, more public position, but turning it down would have pushed him away, where he wouldn’t have been able to apply his influence. “It’s down. The S.O.S was received from the Hope 2. Four minutes later the first missiles struck. She sank in less than two minutes. The boys in black took care of any survivors.”

  “And our creature, was it recovered?” she asked. The PM stared at Gerard, ready to pounce on any bad news.

  “Lost, as were the two men with it,” he reported. He had hoped the good news of an otherwise successful mission would have been acceptable. The PM increased the intensity of her stare. He could sense the anger growing.

  “Where the fuck am I supposed to get another one of those damned things? It was valuable, worth over 500 marines, worth more to me than a thousand pricks like you!” she lurched forward as she raised her voice.

  “I know, I’ve already told those who ran the operation it’s a damned disgrace that they failed to secure our asset and its safe return. I am demanding answers, believe me, I will make sure we have a head on the block before the end of the day for this dereliction of duty. Admiral Hollis is passing this off as a victory, the fool,” Gerard said. He tried to mirror the PM’s anger, an impossible task.

  “Start drawing up replacements for Hollis, he and McKinley have got us in this bloody state. Incompetence and a distinct lack of balls are not traits that will see our survival,” the prime minister spat. She was ready to burst a blood vessel.

  “Prime minister, may I be so bold as to suggest we don’t need to replace them? You have a firm grasp on what the people want, what they need. Hollis is a buffoon, McKinley is better off under house arrest where his softness can’t permeate to the men. You can oversee those roles, your vision is what will save us. Dress Hollis down, but keep him in position, at least publicly, to appease the sailors. You serve the people, and they love you, let the military have their false idol whilst you call the shots,” he proposed to her. Gerard was happy with his brown nosing, but unsure if the PM would be receptive.

  “Don’t you think I have enough to contend with?” she snapped. She liked power, and more of it wasn’t a bad thing, but she was already working 20-hour days, sometimes longer.

  “It would be short-term, it would give you that Winston Churchill image. It would play fantastically to the civilians. Delegate the mundane but be seen taking the decisions that will lead us, Great Britain, back from the brink,” he added. It was working, he knew it.

  “I will deal with Hollis in due course,” the prime minister stated. She calmed, picturing in her mind the statue they may one day build of her.

  “Very good,” Gerard replied. He gave a quiet sigh of relief. He made his way out, happy to have survived the encounter with his job. He thought he’d get a pat on the back but underestimated the prime minister and her expectations. He walked through the narrow corridor and bumped into a marine coming from the opposite direction with a colleague. The marine glared at him, but not nearly as efficiently as the PM had done. “Watch where you’re going cabbage head! Do you know how much this suit cost?” he roared. It was an uncharacteristic act. Had he not just endured a tense meeting with the PM, he would no doubt have just murmured an apology and carried on walking.

  The marine stepped forward, ready to deal with Gerard, but he was dissuaded by his colleague. “Not now, not like this,” he said. The pair carried on leaving Gerard to straighten himself up.

  The two marines walked in silence, angry, and determined. The winding corridors all looked the same, with very little to distinguish one from another. One of their colleagues stood, rifle in his arms, outside of a door, marking it from the others. He acknowledged the two men and stood aside, letting them enter.

  Inside a dozen marines, a few naval officers, and General McKinley. They had been meeting for a few hours and the mood was light, even relieved. A growing number of those serving had been increasingly unhappy with the prime minister. Whispers of callous acts of violence against the civilians, murdering and turning the dead against the living spread amongst the personnel. The biggest sin she had committed in the eyes of those in service, was the sacrificing of their friends, their brothers, and sisters, in the name of the greater good. General McKinley no longer felt duty-bound to protect the administration and could fill in the blanks.

  “The Hope 2 has gone, just as you said,” one of the freshly arrived marines announced.

  “No survivors?” the general asked though he knew the answer.

  “None,” the other marine added.

  “She will do it again. She’s running out of time and ideas, she will sacrifice ships and people until there are only a handful left. The human race is a dwindling resource, and that bloody stupid cow is burning through it,” the general complained. He had seen this
coming, but still frustrated.

  “A coup is a big move, I’m not sure we have the numbers,” a naval officer whimpered.

  “This isn’t a coup! She took power. We will return it to the people. She will be punished for her crimes, and those of us who stood with her will take our medicine too. We need the SBS with us, then we can guarantee a clean handover with no bloodshed.”

  “They come under the admiral’s control in the current organisational design. He’s still loyal, very much so,” the naval officer put in, he wasn’t a fan of his new chief.

  “He knows which side his bread is buttered,” a marine chipped in.

  “Go around him if you can. They’ve lost people like the rest of us because of her. They’re excellent soldiers, they don’t enjoy being ordered to machine gun civilians, they will do what is right when the time comes,” the general said and stood up, signalling it was time for his guests to leave. “Keep me abreast of any developments. Otherwise, 06:30 tomorrow for the commissioned officers. Thank you.”

  The guests slowly shuffled out, a single lieutenant held back. She held a small satchel close and approached the general. “Take this, who knows what tomorrow may bring,” she said and left with the others, leaving the general to close the door, acknowledging his guard as the door clicked shut.

  He looked inside the bag, a Glock 17 pistol. He took it out and checked it, a single bullet was loaded in the chamber and the magazine was empty. If they were discovered or betrayed, who knew what the prime minister might do.

  Chapter 37

  The white Vauxhall Frontera was old, but it ran. The car had as much rust on display as it did paintwork. The tires were bald; the brakes required forward planning, and a wash was much needed. It was one of only two four-wheel-drive cars the community had that was in running condition and was definitely the most expendable. The added benefit was a large interior; if they were successful, they could maximise their return.

  “You’re daft, but good luck,” Babs said and gave Amy a hug. Bo was on his bench watching on. He’d already said everything he needed to.

  Bo had insisted they took a gun. Amy initially resisted, but she wasn’t on her own. With Jack along for the ride, she wasn’t just risking her life, but his. Jack gratefully took Bo’s prized shotgun and a fistful of cartridges when it was offered. It wouldn’t be enough to mount an assault, but it could cover a hasty retreat.

  Jack settled in the front passenger seat as Amy climbed in behind the wheel. Several members of the camp waved them off as the car trundled off down the dirt track that led to the country lanes.

  The car journey took nearly forty minutes. Without the dead to worry about, and if she was certain of the way, it would have been less than half that. But as always, the feeders were everywhere. Sometimes just a few, sometimes large mobs. It was better to avoid a fight than risk losing one. They had time, fuel, and a purpose, stopping to take out a few of the dead along the way was pointless, there were too many, and the living too few. There had been a war, and those stinking bastards won. Amy had acknowledged that their role was to survive, and not to look for a fight.

  As they came closer to the camp, the groups of feeders increased. It was a good sign. At least the camp inmates wouldn’t be massed within whatever remained of the fences.

  “I’ll take us off-piste. If the camp is empty, it’d be a shame to bring few hundred feeders with us,” she said. Amy concentrated on finding the best route.

  A lightly wooded area with several wide tracks going through it seemed like the way to go, driving through both peered into the light foliage and didn’t see any dead. Good. At the other end, they saw it, the camp. It hadn’t fared well.

  Hundreds of decomposing skeletons littered the camp. A Warrior infantry fighting vehicle had made it to one of the outermost fences before it had flipped as it made contact with a watchtower. It sat on its side, hatches open but abandoned. The crushed bodies, fences, and tents behind it showed the hurry it was in before it met its fate. Two more similar trails flanked it, the other tracked vehicles more successful in their escape having punched out through the fences to freedom. The camp was now most definitely abandoned, by the living certainly and by all but a handful of the dead. With their belly’s full of fresh meat, most had wandered off looking for the next feast. The creatures that remained were mostly those turned in the camp, or who had been crippled as the living had desperately defended themselves.

  There were nearly three hundred metres between them and the first fence. The cleared field was mostly muddy, but weeds and grass had added green to the brown dirt. A few shallow craters from explosives offered little in cover or concealment to help them get closer to the camp. The large white car wouldn’t be stealthy, anything in the camp would see it coming as soon as it broke the cover of the woodland.

  “You stay here, I’ll go in on my own,” she said to him. Amy grabbed a large empty rucksack, her machete, and checked her knife was still strapped to her ankle.

  “Amy, don’t. We’ll both go, watch each other’s backs,” replied Jack. He couldn’t even believe she had suggested going in alone.

  “We can’t take the car. We might as well shout dinner is served as we drive up. If we both go in and there’s trouble, we’re both fucked. You stay with the car, if I get in the shit you can drive down and rescue me,” Amy said, she had already decided.

  Jack knew Amy, the only way he’d stop her going down to the camp alone was by knocking her out, and he’s not sure that would stop her. “At least take the damn gun.”

  “I’ll be better off without the weight. Anyway, there’s a small arsenal down there, I’ll be better armed than you in five minutes’ time,” he told her. Amy kissed Jack and exited the car as he shuffled across to the driver’s seat.

  It wasn’t a walk she enjoyed as she made her way to the camp. One thing the survivors had learned is that if the wind was blowing in the right direction, as long as you didn’t act like a human, the dead wouldn’t give you a second glance. She staggered down the gentle slope, hunching her form. At a distance, she would definitely pass as a feeder. The breeze in her face confirmed that her scent of humanity wouldn’t give her away to them. She’d smell the bastards long before they could smell her.

  They would keep the good stuff in the centre of the camp, that was too risky. The checkpoints were her best bet. They kept a small stash of food, ammunition, and basic first aid kits. That would be enough. A bonus would be another discarded rifle in the blood-stained mud.

  It made sense to make use of one of the improvised exits the Warriors had left. They were wide, direct, and reached all the way to the centre of the camp. As she walked across the first wire fence, she remembered her time in the camp. The civilians, the other police officers, and Diane. She never liked to think of Diane. She barely knew her but felt Diane deserved better than to be abandoned. She prayed she wouldn’t come across her. She may lose it if she saw Diane ripped apart on the ground or staggering aimlessly through the camp. As she moved amongst the bodies on the ground she grew more wary. Anyone of these corpses could suddenly spring to life and attack her. She gripped the machete a little tighter.

  Amy decided she’d only go as far as two rings in. That’s all she dared. A lot of the tents had either burned out or partially collapsed. Many still stood intact. She neared the Warrior that was on its side. Such a waste of firepower, she thought. A small tank would certainly beef up the farm’s defensive capability. But then she looked around, a small army hadn’t helped these people. She was in awe of the sight of it. She walked slowly to the top side. The hatches were open, and the crew had escaped. She couldn’t help but peer inside. 30mm shells had fallen out of place and other equipment hung awkwardly. The shells were large, but useless to her. She looked deeper inside and there it was, the first bounty of the day. A small medical pouch. She reached inside but could quite get her fingertips to it. She hesitated, then looked around. Nothing was close, she could do it. In a quick motion, she climbed through th
e hatch and grabbed the pouch. It was weightier than she had expected. That could only be a good sign. She shuffled backwards out when she saw something familiar. A butt of a rifle. She smiled. Climbing further in, she reached out and pulled it towards her. It was smaller than the other service rifles. Its carbine length was handier and lighter. She pulled out the magazine. Balls. It was empty. It was still a welcome addition, but they needed ammunition. They only had a few rounds at the farm, not enough if they were attacked by a sizeable force, another rifle wouldn’t increase their odds of survival significantly.

  A roar stopped her dead in her tracks.

  Jack looked down from the car, trying to see what had made the terrifying noise in the camp. “Fuck me,” he cursed. He saw the creature. This wasn’t just a big bastard, it was fucking huge. It was an impossibility, surely. How had they not seen it? It was difficult to tell how big it was, but judging by how Amy appeared when she entered the camp, this thing looked nearly 10 feet tall. He wanted to drive down and get her, but she’d be furious. It hadn’t seen her, she was smart and athletic. He was ready but would give her the time that she’d have demanded.

  Amy tucked herself into the tank. Silently, she listened for what was lurking outside. Nothing. She looked around, hoping for a magazine or even a single bullet. Giving up, she slung the rifle over her shoulder next to the rucksack. Machete tight in hand, she looked out of the hatch. It was magnificent in its grotesque appearance. It was huge in every way. Some of its boils were the size of footballs, it’s limbs like tree trunks. Its gut nearly reached down to its knees. It was maybe 100 meters away; it wasn’t facing her as it slowly performed its own little patrol of the camp.