Deadweight | Book 2 | The Last Bite

by Forster, Paul

  Amy had resumed her role as leader, Liam finding himself her number two whilst Bo recovered. Between them both, they had the trust and acceptance of everyone in the community. They worked closely together and held a regular morning meeting to update members of the community and allow them to raise concerns. The day’s meeting had just finished, they all even shared a joke, and a few laughs, the first time the mood had been light enough for that to occur. Amy pulled Liam to the side. “The women, they have agreed to allow all of your men to stay.”

  “Okay, good, but they’re not my men,” he said. Liam had naturally become their leader, not that he wanted that responsibility.

  “Yes, they are now. There were two conditions. The first condition is that you are responsible for them. If one steps out of line in that way, you are to deal with them. Permanently,” Amy declared. There was little room for confusion in her tone. Amy locked eyes with Liam and stared intensely at him.

  “Okay,” Liam agreed. He didn’t have choice but to agree, and just hope it never came to that.

  “The second is they don’t want anyone else to know what happened. They haven’t said a word and I doubt any of your men have been bragging about that god awful house. It needs to stay that way. This is a clean start for them and your men.”

  “Agreed.”

  “How many are left to burn?” she asked. With the unpleasant chat out of the way, it was back to the grim everyday business for Amy.

  “We’re down to the last dozen, and a leg of the massive one. We’ll be done today, thank fuck, then we can fill the pit in.” The soldiers had been burning the feeders’ bodies one or two at a time in a large pit they had dug in their first few days. They had been careful not to create smoke or too grotesque a smell that an unfriendly passer-by might notice.

  “Good. I know it’s an awful job,” she admitted. The soldiers hadn’t grumbled or whined, and Amy respected that.

  “They’re all awful jobs. Doesn’t bother me, I’m on light duties with the shoulder still recovering, I just point and order,” Liam said and nearly laughed at the idea that there may have been a duty that wasn’t horrific beyond belief. The soldiers would almost rather be chopping up bodies of the feeders and slowly burning them than scrubbing clean every spot their foul blood had tainted.

  “I know, but that’s one of the worst. I’ll help later and bring a few of the other guys,” Amy replied. They’d be in this for the long haul, Amy knew it would be best to head off resentment and bring everyone together early. The initial signs had been good, but there would always be work to do to keep the peace.

  Liam gave a respectful salute and dismissed himself, leaving Amy alone. The farm was looking better, but the battleground out front couldn’t be trusted to grow crops in. There was plenty of land at the farm, they’d just have to move further afield and maybe be more ambitious. The supplies the soldiers brought would get them through autumn, winter and if they played their cards right, spring. Rather than a glorified vegetable patch, they needed real crops on a larger scale. They just needed to figure out how.

  She wandered the yard surrounding the house, making her presence known by those around her. She wasn’t the first to hear the sound. She had noticed the soldiers starting to run around anxiously, grabbing their weapons and taking cover as they looked around. The engine was noisy, but she struggled to identify the direction from which it was coming. It was only when she looked back at the soldiers, she could see them preparing a GPMG, loading a fresh belt of ammunition, and pointing it south of the farm. The small spot in the sky, a helicopter, slowly growing in size as it travelled towards them. Amy took the shotgun from the sling on her back and clasped it. “Everyone, into the house, please!” She was firm but tried not to show any panic. Why couldn’t they just be left alone?

  The soldiers maintained their discipline as the helicopter slowed as it reached them. It was a British Lynx helicopter. It was close enough for them to make out it was armed with two door gunners manning the weaponry. It was hovering directly between the soldiers working at the fire pit and the farmyard. As it descended, the soldiers readied themselves for a firefight.

  Amy shepherded the last of the civilian survivors into the house. Those not carrying a gun collected one from the store in the house. They wouldn’t again be trapped and helpless.

  Amy crouched behind a stone wall, only the top of her head visible as she stretched up to look over towards the helicopter. It touched down and there was a tense pause before two men hopped out. A tall black man, and a shorter, slightly chubby white one, both raising their hands up. It was impossible, wasn’t it? Amy rose to her feet and shielded her eyes from the sun, hoping for a better look. A smile spread across her face and she put her shotgun down and began running to the helicopter. Suddenly she realised the soldiers may panic and shoot. She picked up speed and ran as hard as she could, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

  Peter and Kenneth turned to see Amy running towards them. Liam had already begun walking towards the men, pleased to see Kenneth.

  “What’s that Amy, shoot them?” Liam said with a smile, but not foolish enough to raise his rifle barrel. “Kenny, you big bastard! It’s good to see you.”

  “You still with your friend?” Kenneth asked, he wasn’t sure he was pleased to see Liam.

  “No, he’s not around anymore. We’re helping, we’re here now with these guys,” Liam said and dropped his smile.

  “Good,” Kenneth said and hoped it was true.

  Amy joined them and hugged Peter. “I thought you were dead!” she exclaimed. She looked at Kenneth. “And I was bloody certain you were!”

  Peter couldn’t talk, as he struggled to hold back the tears. To see a friendly face, to be back at the farm after all this time, was nearly too much for him.

  “Your boy did good, I got lucky,” Kenneth beamed.

  Spencer joined them and approached them. “What’s the situation?”

  “We’re recovering from a substantial attack, these soldiers have joined us and are helping us get back on our feet,” Amy said and straightened herself up as if talking to a general.

  “Good. Peter is your problem now, I love the lad but my God, his sense of direction is awful. We’ve spent two days flying around trying to find our way back here. I’m sure if we hadn’t found you today, Seb would have thrown him out at a 2000 feet,” Spencer joked and gave Peter a playful nudge that knocked him back. “Do you require any help?”

  “We’re always happy for more able bodies to join us,” Amy answered. She would be more than happy for more guns and a helicopter to join them.

  “Sorry, we have a mission. Well, we’re between missions, but I expect that won’t last long. We can get in touch with command, they might assist going forward.”

  “Amy, there’s a cure, it works!” Peter blurted the information out.

  “A cure, how?” she questioned. Like most survivors, Amy had long since given up hope that there would ever be a cure, a chance of salvation.

  “There’s a lot to catch you up on. I’m sure Peter will oblige. There are better things coming. I need to get this one back to his village and then back to my men.”

  “We have an ill man, he had a heart attack. Can you help?” Amy asked. A catch-up could wait, Bo was Amy’s priority now.

  “We’re not equipped at Wellworth, but there’s a larger facility, they might help. Is he stable?” Spencer asked. He had been advised the new administration were far more humanitarian than the last, helping survivors on the mainland was a good place to start.

  “Yes, for now, but he’s not in a good way,” she replied. Amy worried they might not help if the patient wasn’t urgent.

  “I’ll get back and report in, I’ll try to get at least a doctor out here in the next 24 hours. If I call it in this morning, they should be able to get something done for tomorrow,” he said. He reached his hand out to Peter to shake. “It was a pleasure serving with you. You look after these guys. I’ll get this one back home.”


  “I’m at a village called Nutwood, it’s not too far from here. I’ll try to come back in a few days, they’re good people, I’m sure we can help each other,” he said then patted Liam on the shoulder and smiled. “Try not to hurt too many people.” he added. Kenneth was delighted to see another community, much like the one he had made his own. One that he was eager to return to.

  Both Kenneth and Spencer jogged back to the helicopter, and it quickly took off, wasting no time as it headed away at speed.

  “It’s good to see you, Peter, really good,” she said. Another returning ghost was always a pleasant surprise.

  “I thought I was going to die alone for so long, I can’t explain how it feels to be back here. I’ve got so much to tell you,” he admitted. Amy put her arm around Peter and walked the pair back towards the house.

  Chapter 67

  It was shortly after 6 am. The sun was barely up as the four passengers were loaded onboard the small rigid hull inflatable boat. They were accompanied by two armed special forces soldiers and another to guide the craft to its destination. An additional boat was crewed with six of the special forces soldiers, able to assist if there was trouble aboard the first vessel. Three of the passengers had been unwilling to board the boat, being forcibly placed in their seats and bound in place. One was calm. This had been the general’s idea after all. It was time they gave back. The former prime minister had started angry and belligerent. Now she was just scared. The admiral didn’t believe that what he’d been told was anything more than an idle threat. Only when he got to the small boat did he realise it was over and tried to mumble his objection through his wired jaw. William Johnson was just angry. He’d been at the top of the food chain, then taken from his home and his perfect future before being cured against his will by his own creation. He’d hoped to have been able to trade his knowledge for his life, but his meticulous notes and documented formulas along with the samples were all that was needed. His only value was as a test subject, and that usefulness was quickly outlived.

  The three human test subjects had been given the cure, but not exposed to the microbe or anything tainted with it. Each had howled in pain as they were injected with the solution. They complained of a burning sensation throughout their bodies for hours afterwards. Their hands and feet would go numb and even a short period of loss of vision. Not ideal reactions, however, the cure remained in their bodies, wasn’t passed in urine, faeces or any other bodily fluid. Only blood samples drawn from the subjects showed traces. They could work on the side effects to perfect the use of it as a vaccine, as a cure they had already proven it worked. Johnson’s only reaction to the cure being administered was the colour returning to his skin, his blood returning to the more usual red colour and profusely vomiting grey bile for nearly five minutes. His gunshot wound had nearly healed before they cured him. As the cure took hold, the wound itself degraded as if the microbe had been holding the flesh together on its own. It was obvious without extensive medical treatment, he would die. There wasn’t much in the way of an appetite in saving the life of this killer. He was human again, but he’d always be a monster. Better he too became part of the solution after being the problem.

  The last 36 hours hadn’t been enjoyable for any of them, shortly that trauma would pale into insignificance.

  The boats pulled away and began their trip to the island. HMS Reckoning, along with most of the other naval vessels, had stayed close whilst they were waiting for their next move. The sea was calm, a small blessing for those onboard. The general breathed in the sea air and tried not to think about his fate. It would be bad, but at least it would be over quickly. His fellow passengers continued to plead, beg or scream angrily, hoping this would change their fortunes.

  When the engines died down, everyone went silent as the boats drifted towards shore. The abandoned equipment and ravaged remains of dozens of soldiers littered the beach up to and beyond where sand met vegetation. None of the dead had made themselves known to the incoming vessels.

  “This is your stop!” the soldier shouted as he placed the boat gently on to the beach.

  “Come on, let’s get this over and done with,” the general announced as he stood up, the only one not tied in place. He assisted the soldiers removing the cable ties from his fellow passengers and jumped onto the wet sand at the front of the small boat. The others stayed put, “Come with me or they’ll shoot you.”

  “Fine, I’d rather be shot than ripped apart you fucking simpleton,” the former prime minister stubbornly refused to move.

  “Margaret, they won’t kill you, they’ll blow out your kneecap and then throw you on the beach. You’ll suffer that excruciating pain before you’re devoured. Get out now and run. You might make it,” he replied. The general was calm, despite the words his tone was kind.

  “I’m not sure you’ve ever called me by my name,” she whispered. Tears streamed down the former prime minister’s face.

  “You’re not my boss anymore, I can’t call you prime minister. Let’s go,” said the general. He remained calm and compassionate.

  The soldiers threw Johnson off of the front of the boat, turning to give the admiral the same treatment. He crossed his head and made his way to the front and jumped on to the beach. As soon as his feet hit the sand, he ran as fast as he could down the narrow stretch of beach, just as likely to run into trouble as away from it. The general reached his hand out to the former prime minister and assisted her off the front of the boat. They walked towards the rough, stony terrain as they heard the first of the growls and moans beyond the grass and bushes. The two boats pulled away, edging back towards the channel.

  “You won’t leave me alone, will you?” she asked vulnerable. She wiped the tears from her face and straightened herself up as if she was an MP about to address a crowd.

  “Of course not,” the general assured her. He didn’t want to die alone anymore than she did.

  The admiral’s muffled screams echoed down the beach. Two of the creatures had grabbed him and were beginning their feast. Johnson could barely stand, his chest wound seeping his thick red blood through the dressing. He stumbled in the opposite direction from the others, still harbouring hope of surviving.

  “What do we do?” she asked. She reached her hand out to the general to hold.

  “You can run, but I think we should just wait a few moments. I don’t think it’ll be long,” he told her and squeezed her hand.

  “I’m scared,” she revealed. The former prime minister Margaret Norville tried to keep her dignity, accepting this was it.

  “Me too,” the general confessed. His heart raced.

  The first creature emerged. A former marine, his uniform bloody and shredded. A large wound to its cheek showing its teeth whether or not it had its mouth open. The second emerged, a young boy, followed by half a dozen more. All of various ages and conditions. All hungry.

  “They’re coming,” her voice trembled.

  “Lets not look,” the general said and turned them both around to face the sea. “It’ll be okay.”

  The sound of dozens of footsteps and growls grew louder. They both gripped each other’s hand a little tighter.

  It took just seconds for them to be completely enveloped by the horde. Neither had a chance to scream. The feeders jostled for position, eager not to miss out on their meal.

  Johnson didn’t look back, he hobbled along before his legs gave out. He crawled a few more feet before he couldn’t move any further. The dressing on his chest wound was drenched in his own blood. A single feeder had locked on to him and approached at pace. Johnson couldn’t muster the energy to even throw a fist at the creature. It grabbed his arm and started chewing through the bicep, tearing at flesh and bone, twisting the limb desperately trying to remove it before the others came. His weak moan of pain just alerted more creatures to him. The first pulled his arm free, guaranteeing a meal for itself as a second and third feeder reached him and tore chunks of flesh from his body. He was helpless to stop
them as they leisurely picked at him. In less than a minute he was dead, the last of the feeders hurrying over for their turn.

  After several minutes, they had picked each of the bodies clean. The partial remains and scraps of clothing spread on the bloodied sand. Some feeders stayed, others walked back from where they came. Ready to start their own involuntary work of spreading the cure.

  Chapter 68

  It was a beautiful late summer’s day; the farmhouse was bathed in sunshine, the garden in front of it in full bloom. The amateur gardeners had worked hard since the springtime to cultivate a garden that would offer beauty all year round for people to enjoy. The land had been deemed useless for crops after the big battle, but a rose looked just as beautiful grown in the tainted soil as anywhere else. Babs sat alone at the bench outside of the old stone building, where Bo used to enjoy a rest. Looking out at the thriving community, tents had given way to more permanent structures, small but secure from the terrors that the world may still throw at them. People were happy, the population had grown considerably, now nearly 100 people lived at the farm. The nearby fields were freshly ploughed, or housed crops nearly ready to be harvested. Peter emerged from his own small wooden dwelling.

  “Pete, how are you on this fine morning?” Babs asked with a wide, proud smile.

  “Feeling great, as always. I’m just going to check on the cornfield and spend some time with Michael and Jake,” Peter replied and looked towards the fields, trying to catch sight of the men.

  “I saw Kenneth first thing with that airgun on the lookout for rabbits. I’ve asked him to put a few aside for us. If you see him, remind him,” Babs said, she still played mother to the dwellers of the farm.

  Peter nodded politely. A year ago, he never thought he’d grow tired of fresh meat. Now he dreaded the rabbit in the pot. He always seemed to be the one who got a mouthful of small bones. “Great, rabbit,” he replied sarcastically.