Deadweight | Book 2 | The Last Bite

by Forster, Paul

  Kevin watched as they moved further away as he scoffed down the protein bar, facing the reality he would probably die alone.

  Chapter 43

  It was a sunny day with a cool breeze that gently rode through the community. Since her return to the rescue camp, Amy was more determined than ever to increase their defences. Rising just after the sun, she had dug a trench which she planned would be the first in a series. Against a living threat, they could use them for cover. Against the dead, it would hopefully trap a few of the bastards. Those on watch looked at Amy with both admiration and pity. She was as brave and selfless as anyone in the camp, but she could not stop for even a moment. She was always looking to the next thing, never happy with what she had. There was little doubt after the trenches were complete, she’d want something else built or procured. They didn’t know what she had seen at the abandoned camp, the riches that existed, the giant that could devour them all.

  As the rest of survivors woke and began starting their day, Amy had already done a day’s work. Jack had woken up alone. It wasn’t unusual, but when he saw her digging the trench on the boundary of the settlement and the field he didn’t question it. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of water and a bowl of oats and took it to her.

  “You look like you need this,” he said and handed her the refreshments, and she gratefully chugged down the water as they sat down beside each other on the side of the partially dug trench. “How many of these are you planning on digging?”

  “Just a few, covering the main approaches. We need more than shallow stone walls. We’re sitting ducks out here,” she commented. She looked out to the surrounding area, aware a threat could approach from anywhere.

  “We’ve done okay so far,” Jack said, believing their community more a success than a work in progress.

  “The jumper, the gigantic bastard, the smart ones. Jesus, what else is out there? We’ve all seen the herds, we’ve been lucky to lead a few away. We’re not always going to be that fortunate.”

  “Eat and drink. I’ll round up some idle hands to help us,” he told her. Jack knew the trenches would be dug. Even if she had to spend 16 hours a day for a month doing it herself. A gentle hand on her back, a quick kiss, and he was heading back to the farmhouse.

  Bo had been working late into the evening. The faulty assault rifle had found its way to him to repair, and he’d been successful but was eager to check his handiwork in the sunlight rather than that of the dim candles he’d used the previous evening. He cycled the action; it was clean and crisp, depressing the trigger the click helped affirm he’d at least put it back together mostly correctly. Jack approached and was waved over.

  “Any luck with that thing?” Jack gestured to the rifle.

  “Piece of piss. The damn thing was fucking filthy. It was just a jam, but it would probably have struggled to pass more than a couple of rounds before it jammed again.” Bo rubbed the weapon down, taking a degree of pride in his work.

  “So it’s working?” Jack meekly asked.

  “Of course it bloody is. Just needed a good field strip and clean. These modern service rifles, a pile of shit. Give me an Enfield any day of the week, even these kids today calling themselves soldiers could keep one of those running.” Bo stated, insulted by the passing of time and progress in military small arms.

  Jack had hoped it was beyond repair, that it would just be a lump of scrap metal. Good for little more than use as an improvised club. “Bo, you can’t tell her it’s fixed.”

  “What are you talking about son?” Bo asked. He already felt like he was surplus to requirements, fixing the rifle was the only useful thing he’d managed in a week and he was to pretend he hadn’t.

  “She’ll want to go back. If that can fire, she’ll go back to that camp and she’ll die. There are too many of them there, it’s too dangerous, and she’s too damn stubborn.”

  He was right, Bo knew it. She was brave and intelligent, but she was a stubborn cow. A rifle with 30 rounds against hundreds of the dead and the mutations wasn’t much use. Worse still, she wouldn’t be alone. The community admired her greatly and would follow her anywhere, and if she felt the reward was great enough, she might just let them.

  “We can’t not tell her, she’d go fucking mental for starters,” Bo replied. He knew her reaction wouldn’t be productive.

  “But Bo…” Jack pleaded.

  “I understand, I do. Lord knows I do, but it ain’t like that, is it? She’s stubborn, but I don’t think she’s wrong that often. If I was 20, okay, 30 years younger I’d be storming that fucking place with my shooter to get my mitts on everything that’s there.”

  “But Bo…” Jack began.

  “Jack, it ain’t worth the dick ache. She’s right, we just don’t want her to be. You follow her like a puppy and you never challenge her. Don’t make it that when you finally do, you lie to the girl. Because I won’t fucking protect you from her when she rips you prick off,” Bo was serious.

  “Can you give me a few days?” Jack asked. He was already thinking about how to outmanoeuvre Bo and Amy. He needed a little more time.

  “I’ll tell her it’ll be fixed by teatime tomorrow,” Bo relented, happier with the white lie rather than the outright one.

  “You’re a star Bo,” Jack praised. He trotted off to rustle up some help with the trenches. The manual labour would keep her mind off returning to the camp and give him the time he needed. He refused to let her die there. It was time others carried some crippling weight on her shoulders.

  Chapter 44

  William had fallen asleep in an old chair that had remained from when his laboratory was just a holiday cottage. It was worn, but more comfortable than sleeping on the floor. He hadn’t spared a thought for Natasha in the cellar as he’d covered himself in a warm blanket before he’d drifted off. The bitch deserved to be put back in her place. She didn’t understand what he was busy achieving, she just wanted to play and fuck around. Every day she became more complacent, forgetting the suffering she had endured as food had become harder to come by. She needed a lesson. He’d keep her there for a day or two until the hunger overtook her, maybe then she’d remember how hard life was before she met him.

  William stirred as the girl cried. She hadn’t slept well at all, but she hadn’t turned either. There was a battle being fought in her body between the microbe and the cure, and it was nearly over. William climbed from his chair, still feeling groggy, and stumbled to his patient. Her eyes widened as he approached, William barely acknowledged her fear and peeled the dressing from her face. It wasn’t grey, the dried blood was red, and the flesh looked like a normal wound. William smiled, it works.

  He was still unsure if she would be edible, but she was alive and human. As a scientist, he was proud that he had achieved a cure where the rest of the scientific community had failed miserably. As a monster, all he cared about was eating the fruits of his labour.

  The three cages were covered with blankets, each of the occupants were unusually quiet. William hadn’t noticed it overnight, but he had other things on his mind as he tried to save the girl. He pulled the blanket off of the boy’s cage. He was slumped on the floor, alive, not infected but docile. The bloody bandage on his stump, a delightful red rather than grey. All good. The second cage held the female feeder, part two of his experiment. He pulled the blanket off and there she sat. Her pink flesh and vacant stare. Damn it. She too had been cured. She was now just a dumb, useless lump of living meat.

  William knew it would be a long day ahead, testing samples and amending his formula. He was eager to get started, much like with FatBGone, the cure worked, but there was a problem. He couldn’t overlook this issue. With FatBGone, he didn’t think in even the worst-case scenario, they’d be condemning humanity to extinction at the hands of the dead. With the cure, if not perfect, he’d be condemning himself to that awful fate. And that wouldn’t do.

  *

  Natasha was cold, tired and pissed off. The shackles were uncomfortable. She
was still naked and her fellow prisoners stared at her, unable to trust she was truly secured. She hated William. He had treated her like one of the cattle. Keeping her down in the cellar with the food was humiliating. For a moment, she felt like the fat girl she used to be with the rest of the cellar judging her. She would take great delight in eating every last one of them. “You know that in six months you’ll all be dead. In a few months you’ll be limbless pieces of meat and you’ll wish you were dead,” she spat out with anger.

  A sad and quiet male voice piped up. “We already wish we were dead, you fucking monster.”

  Natasha pulled angrily at her chains, but they were sturdy. She wasn’t going anywhere until William allowed it.

  Chapter 45

  Peter woke in a bed in the small barracks after the latest late night poker session. His pockets were still full of the empty shell casings that the men used for chips, reminding him of a successful session. They all promised to convert the chips in to whatever riches the new world might eventually bring. None expected they would ever be worth more than fresh berries or a handful of spuds, but what was a game of cards without something to lose?

  The soldiers were all getting into their kit or just returning from their daily circuits of the compound. This was how they started every day, grab their rifle and go for a run. Only once had they tried to get Peter to join them. It was clear he wasn’t a runner, and they had liked him enough to not push the matter.

  He had spent the last two nights in the barracks. He had started to see the barracks with all the firepower and trained professionals within it as a safer bet than being alone in an office if the feeders ever smashed through the fences. And the bed, no matter how basic, was better than the carpet tiles he had been sleeping on.

  “Peter, get your glad rags on, we’re taking you out on a date,” Spencer boomed across the room.

  Peter was still adjusting to being awake and didn’t think he had heard Spencer correctly. “Sorry, what?”

  “You’re coming out with us today. Andy twisted his ankle on his run and we need you on his gimpy,” Spencer spoke like it was the most normal request in the world to ask of this civilian.

  Gimpy? Peter hadn’t left Wellworth since he’d arrived. He thought he’d either die there or after the soldiers arrived, eventually be whisked off to safety. “I don’t know.”

  “Peter, it’s not up for debate. Don’t worry, it’s easy and we’ll look after you. Kyle will run you through using the gun and will make sure you don’t fall out of the helicopter,” Spencer assured. He was confident Peter wouldn’t let them down, if only Peter had shared that view.

  “It’s a piece of piss, look at Kyle and Andy. They’re bloody useless and even they can do that job,” Mike piped up.

  “Am I allowed?” Peter asked. The naturally reserved law taker in him couldn’t reconcile being put in control of a machine gun, surely someone higher up would tell him off.

  “Allowed? I can give you a shiny badge that says soldier on it if you think that will make it legal,” Spencer joked.

  The rest of the men were exiting the barracks, ready to go as Peter scrambled to his feet and straightened himself up.

  “You’ll be fine, Pete. Don’t worry, it’s nearly impossible to fall out, just make sure the harness is good and tight. But not too tight, in case they have to ditch. You don’t want to be tied to a helicopter that’s about to go bang after a rough landing,” Andy said. He gave him the thumbs up as he settled on a bed with a well-thumbed glossy lifestyle magazine.

  Peter staggered out of the barracks, to be beckoned over to the helicopter by Kyle to run through his role. It took less than ten minutes for the teacher to be satisfied that his student had a basic enough understanding that he would be unlikely to kill himself or the others.

  Spencer had lined his men up as he briefed them for the day’s activities, “The head sheds want us to continue with their plan. It’s bollocks. I know where I want to check. There are far more likely locations for our target that what we’ve been ordered to investigate. That kids intel fitted in with what we’ve found. However today, we’re going to Nutwood, Lavender Hill, Burrow Heath and some other dead fucking end. I suspect we may have engine difficulties after Nutwood and may find ourselves touching down at several definitely not pre-planned sites north of Thornhurst.” Spencer’s delivery was completely deadpan.

  The men smiled, they trusted Spencer. Boots and eyes on the ground were always more reliable than over educated men and woman hundreds of miles away, analysing satellite images. They had generated a list of hundreds of sites they wanted checking. Other teams no doubt working other areas and the job wouldn’t be done until each blade of grass had been trodden on, or door kicked in at every target.

  The helicopter engine started, and the rotor blades picked up speed. The men began jogging to the Lynx, ready for a day’s work.

  Chapter 46

  Jack stared at Amy as she slept. Her lower lip often quivered when in a deep sleep, and Jack found it adorable. The trenches had come along nicely during the last two days, but all those who had worked on them were suitably tired but satisfied with their efforts. There would be little chance Amy would rise early today. As quiet as a mouse, he got dressed and crept out of the small boxroom.

  Leaving the comfort of the farmhouse, he acknowledged those on watch as he made his way to the Frontera. He’d made sure it was ready to go during the day and stashed a map he drawn from memory to the camp. It was basic but had a few key features he’d remembered from their previous visit. The sun was nearly up and the light was breaking over the horizon. He had his mallet by his side, and a knife strapped to his ankle. He knew what he was heading into, but if he didn’t do this, she would. She didn’t care about the risk; she saw the needs of the others above her own, and she’d die for anyone in the community. She wouldn’t die today.

  Jack slipped the car into gear and released the handbrake, allowing it to coast down the natural slope of land down the lane to the gate. It was only 50 metres away, but the less noise the better. He only started the engine after stopping the car to open, then close the gate after him. Looking back in his mirrors, he was relieved that Amy wasn’t chasing him down half naked.

  His map had proved nearly useless, but he got to the camp in not too bad a time. Stopping in the same spot they had used previously, he looked down at the camp. He searched for the biggest of the big bastards and couldn’t see the giant. They hadn’t seen it last time either. It could have left, that was plausible, it had pursued them for a while after they left. It’s not as if there was any food for it in the camp anymore. Flesh stripped skeletons and other feeders were not food for any of the rotting bastards.

  Jack didn’t want to announce his arrival. Amy had been right to not use the car when there were two of them, but he was on his own. Much like when he left the farm, he could coast down the hill to get closer to the fence. If he found trouble he could get back and drive out. That was his hope, at least. He positioned the car close to an opening in the fence caused by a fleeing armoured vehicle, leading all the way back to the centre of the camp. He left the keys in the ignition and the door open. He opened the boot of the car and gently guided it open. Looking at the camp in front of him and his mallet in his hand, he suddenly felt woefully under-gunned. He couldn’t go back now, so he went forward.

  He hadn’t been at this camp when society fell. He had been with a group of survivors who fended for themselves and had done a fairly decent job at it. In its destroyed and abandoned state, the scale of the camp was still impressive. He had heard how bad these places were and lost count at the amount of times he’d been told how lucky he was that he didn’t end up in one. Looking around, it was hard to tell if it was as bad as everyone had said before they had abandoned it. Everything was stained with blood, soot or just good old-fashioned British mud. Carefully, he made his way through each of the fences until he’d reached the centre. His run had proved mostly clear, with only a handful of creatur
es visible, all at a comfortable distance.

  The bounty was as Amy had described. Boxes of medical supplies, food, clothing, building supplies and ammunition. It had everything they would need for months, maybe even years. He wouldn’t be able to take everything, so he would have to prioritise. Medical supplies and ammunition would be most important. Food was a close third spot for space. A few extra boxes of the ration packs would supplement what they had, they could grow or catch food, but they couldn’t manufacture drugs or load their own ammunition.

  The first run was the most tense. Every rustle of tent canvas in the wind, or crunch of shell casings underfoot, forced him to stop. He started with a can of 5.56mm cartridges. It would have been Amy’s priority. He carried it back to the car, holding it with one hand and his mallet with the other, ready to defend himself when the first inevitable attack occurred. He popped the top and was disappointed that the 1000 rounds advertised as the contents weren’t so. Instead, 15 filled magazines had been stored in place of the more plentiful loose ammunition. He scolded himself for not checking, but it was still more ammo than they’d ever had and he was far from the day. It was just a shame there were no more guns.