Roamers (Book 2): Fear. Loss. Survival. Hope.

by Viper, Velveteen

  Roamers II

  VELVETEEN VIPER

  Roamers II

  By Velveteen Viper

  Copyright © Amanda Burgoyne

  This book is dedicated to the memory of my loving Grandfather,

  David Wynford Evans.

  (1936-2018)

  Always proud. Always strong. Always kind.

  Also, to my parents.

  Without you, I wouldn’t be this brilliant and messed up,

  and this story could not have been told.

  Chapter One

  Scarlett

  Night had dropped in Newhill like a heavy curtain and the stars in the black velvet sky shone furiously, each one filling just the right amount of empty space. Ghostly, ribbon-like clouds were rolling over the full moon and each crater on its bright face was visible. The moon, the stars, the streaming clouds; everything glowed with its own menacing light.

  Scarlett ambled for what she estimated to be about a mile and a half. With the warehouse out of sight, she slumped to the ground and retrieved the pistol from her boot, attaching the suppressor.

  She felt an overwhelming fatigue as she sat on the curb, with her arms resting on her knees and the gun hanging limply from her right hand.

  Waiting. That was all she could do; wait.

  She wanted to wait for as long as she could before turning her weapon on herself.

  Scarlett lifted her head and observed the area. The darkness made her feel isolated and vulnerable, sitting at the edge of the road. Trembling in the cold air, she crawled toward a tree and wilted against it, feeling slightly less exposed, and continued to anticipate her end.

  Travis

  Travis looked in the rear-view mirror and observed his sleeping daughter sprawled across the back seat. He drove slowly and without any thought for his destination.

  He wanted to find another place like the warehouse where he and Hope could start afresh. But those places were few and far between now and Travis knew it.

  He continued to drive away from the warehouse, and in the opposite direction to the cottage. It had crossed his mind to go back there; with just the two of them it could be more sustainable, but there were too many ghosts. Too many painful memories. There were more good memories than bad, Travis had to admit. Though Scarlett was at the centre of them all and, at that moment in time, he didn’t want to think about her. But everything reminded him of her. Most of all, Hope. Her long, dark hair, her voice; even her mannerisms and facial expressions.

  They’d discovered the cottage together, just before Travis learned that he was going to be a father. And then he had the secret joy of watching Scarlett’s belly grow and listening to her complaining that she was bored. He had helped to deliver their baby in the middle of the woods. He was the first to hold their daughter, watched and waited desperately for her to take her first breath. He’d been accepted by the others as Hope’s father. They had the security for three years to raise her in the cottage. He didn’t want to forget any of it, even the bad, but he couldn’t relive it every day without Scarlett by his side.

  After two hours of driving, according to the in-car clock, Travis felt his eyes grow heavy. He’d barely slept over the previous few days with everything that had happened. He slowed the vehicle to a stop and checked his surroundings. The area seemed safe enough, so he eased his seat back to lie as flat as possible, and shut his eyes.

  When he woke, the sun was spilling in through the windows and Hope had climbed onto the passenger seat. She was watching Travis adjust to the morning with a grin on her face. He looked at her and returned the smile.

  “Good mornin’, sweetheart.”

  “G’mornin’, Daddy.”

  The sweet moment was short-lived when Scarlett crept into Travis’ mind and he had to comprehend all over again that she was gone. An invisible weight lingered on his chest when he thought about her, and the sickness in the pit of his stomach that surfaced when he read her note had remained with him since. His body was weak with grief.

  He stepped out of the car and stretched, wiping the sleep from his eyes, doing remarkably well at holding back his tears. His back ached and his skin prickled in the cold morning air. He slid a hand into his back pocket and felt the edge of the folded paper which held Scarlett’s final words to him. He hoped that he’d be brave enough to read it again one day.

  Hope pressed her face against the window and Travis could just make out from the movements of her mouth that she was asking for breakfast. Making his way to the boot of the vehicle, Travis quickly realised that he had no stove or mess tins. He made a mental note to find some before retrieving two small tins. One contained tuna and the other, pineapple chunks.

  Travis felt annoyed with himself for bringing the tinned pineapple. He should have known that it would upset him. He sighed, closing the boot and dropping himself back into the driver’s seat. He grudgingly opened the pineapple chunks and handed them to Hope.

  He watched his daughter get comfortable on the passenger seat, crossing her legs and smiling before scooping a handful of fruit into her mouth. Travis couldn’t help but snigger when her face contorted into a grimace, half wanting to spit it out, but too hungry and accustomed to little choice in meals to do so.

  The smell of Tuna filled the car as Travis peeled back the aluminium lid. Most people would turn their noses up at having fish for breakfast, but Travis was familiar with much worse over the last few years.

  It was gone all too fast and Travis helped his daughter retrieve the dregs from her can before taking a long swig from his canteen. He knew they had to move on; it was only a matter of time before Roamers appeared, and Travis wanted to avoid them for as long as possible while he had Hope in tow.

  He grabbed the map from the passenger door and began studying it, looking for unvisited woodland. His finger settled on a spot roughly thirty miles north of them. It was a fairly small patch of trees, and there was a water source nearby, which had the potential to mean other survivors.

  He decided to head in that direction and camp along the way. They couldn’t continue to sleep in the car. Travis knew Hope would be fine snuggled up on the back seat, but for him, it was too cramped. The first job, he thought, was to find a tent, a stove and some mess tins.

  Scarlett

  The sunlight breaking through the trees disturbed Scarlett’s deep sleep and she cautiously opened her eyes to the dawn.

  She wondered if this was what it felt like to be dead; to be a Roamer. Still fully aware of who she was and all of her surroundings. Perhaps, she thought, she would be a fully functional mind trapped inside her rotting body until someone put her down.

  She shook those thoughts away and was surprised when her limbs complied with her brain’s will to stand. Her gunshot wound was tender, but she was determined, now she knew that she could, to get to her feet. She felt hunger, but it wasn’t a craving for flesh; it was for tinned tomatoes, freshly boiled water, and rice.

  Once upright, Scarlett rubbed her fingers tentatively along her thigh. It felt bruised and very slightly raised, so she checked her arms, stomach and legs for any signs of infection. When she found none, tears formed in her eyes; she felt relief, joy, excitement; all bound together in a smile.

  She thought about Hope waking up to find her there like always. She thought about the note she’d left for Travis and imagined herself ripping it up or setting fire to it so that he never had to read it. She would tell him the good parts in person. He would never need to know that she left.

  With those thoughts at the front of her mind, Scarlett ran back toward the warehouse. Her injury throbbed, her heart began to race, and her breath caught in her throat with t
he biting cold.

  Nothing was slowing her down. She ran with the same ferocity that drove her when the dead first started walking; the same desire she felt every time she looked Travis in the eye; the same unconditional love that saved her daughter from slavery.

  For over a mile, Scarlett sprinted back to her family and finally, the warehouse was within reach. The gate was closed and she couldn’t get back over the way she came because her boots wouldn’t give her enough purchase on the galvanised plates, so she stopped and took a few seconds to catch her breath.

  She thought about shouting, trying to rouse someone, anyone, inside. But she knew it wasn’t worth the risk to compromise the security of their home.

  Instead, she investigated the concrete walls. There was no physical way she could make it up and over, least of all with the state she was in. On closer inspection, however, Scarlett realised that the gate was unchained. She knew it had been locked before she left, so someone else must have opened it since.

  Scarlett began to worry that she was too late to stop Travis from reading her note. What if he’d gone looking for her? She slid the gate open just enough to squeeze through before replacing the chain and securing it with the padlock.

  Attempting to revive her positive outlook, she made for the warehouse entrance and quietly slithered inside.

  The interior was weirdly quiet, but the further Scarlett crept, the more she could hear; soft snores and heavy breathing, fidgeting under sheets and sleep-talking. She hadn’t realised how much deeper everyone had been sleeping at the warehouse.

  Scarlett guessed that the absence of natural light first thing in the morning was a reason for this. Not to mention the concrete walls giving everybody peace of mind.

  She made her way to the corner she shared with Travis and sometimes Hope. It was empty, so she continued to wander through the building. Scarlett made her way to Hope’s Wendy house, thinking how funny it would be to see Travis squashed up inside. They weren’t there either.

  Walking faster, and with panic beginning to set in, Scarlett arrived in the office corridor and started peeking hastily in through the windows. She entered the room she’d left her note in and her heart sank when she saw that it was gone.

  Remembering the mess she was in when she wrote it, she checked under the desk and in the drawers. Her breathing quickened and tears began rolling down her face when the realisation washed over her: Travis believed that she was dead.

  She swiftly worked out that he was gone, and he had obviously taken Hope with him, so it was not with the aim of finding her. He wasn’t planning on coming back. Why would he take their daughter otherwise? For whatever reason, Travis had felt that Hope growing up in the warehouse was not a sustainable option.

  Scarlett thought that they couldn’t have got far from Newhill. She had to find them. They both needed her just as much as she needed them, and Scarlett wouldn’t let them down.

  Chapter Two

  Travis

  With roughly half a tank of fuel, Travis pulled up to a small hunting store. One of the advantages of keeping to the countryside was the frequency with which camping and outdoorsy shops appeared.

  Travis noted that the door and windows were intact, potentially meaning a decent supply remaining inside. He grabbed his crossbow from the passenger foot well and placed his other hand on the door, stopping himself when he remembered that Hope was sitting quietly in the back.

  Considering his options, Travis concluded that the safest thing would be to leave her in the car. He took the keys from the ignition and turned in his seat to face her.

  “Hope,” she looked at him and grinned, “Daddy’s gonna be right back, okay?” the little girl nodded, but her smile was fading.

  Travis locked the car door before raising his ‘bow to his chin ready to fire. He took one last look at his daughter and tapped on the store window. Moments later, a Roamer appeared. It had clearly been there some time, maybe even since near the beginning, Travis thought. It was the animated body of a man. The skin was hanging from his sunken face, eyes blind and clothes saturated in various bodily fluids.

  Travis tried the door handle while the creature slapped and clawed at the glass, its mouth opening and closing as though it thought that willpower alone would dissolve the barrier between it and Travis’ warm flesh. The door was locked, so Travis decided to try another way. He didn’t want Hope to watch him put down the Roamer, or see her father being attacked, so he made for the back entrance.

  Behind the store was cramped and overgrown. Travis made sure to be careful where he stepped in case there were any Biters lurking in the grass. The back door had been wedged open with a plastic crate, and the door and frame around it were covered in dried, congealed blood.

  Leading with his crossbow, Travis slowly pushed open the door, stepping over the crate to the other side. The Roamer he encountered was still at the front windows, having not heard Travis sneak around the back. The last thing Hope needed to see was its head falling apart against the glass, so Travis swapped his weapon for a bell from the counter and shook it, giving a quick ding-a-ling to attract the creature’s attention. The rotting man slowly revolved on the spot and snarled.

  Travis replaced the bell and walked toward it, drawing his hunting knife from his belt. Grabbing the Roamer by its hair, he dragged it further back and threw it to the floor. It struggled and grasped for him, and Travis quickly slid the blade through its temple, rendering the man lifeless.

  Already sweating in the cramped store, Travis began helping himself to anything he could grab, stuffing two sleeping bags, mess tins and a stove into his rucksack. He set it down in front of the door along with a small tent and bagged camping bed before hastily seizing another large backpack.

  His eyes darted around the store, seeking out anything else which might be of use to him, and came to rest on a small section, aptly named ‘Survivor’s Corner’. Neatly arranged on the shelf were ration packs, water purifying tablets, foldable water containers, compasses, and mallets. Again, Travis seized what he could, stuffing it into the second bag. Inside a glass display cabinet running along the wall was a plethora of hunting knives and multi-tools. Travis couldn’t resist. Having neither the time nor the patience to look for a key, he took Scarlett’s axe and smashed the glass. He appropriated only one hunting blade, but also helped himself to a bright red flare gun.

  Stuffing them into the bag, Travis’ attention was quickly drawn outside on hearing his daughter’s screams. He glanced through the window to see three Roamers around the car, trying to reach Hope. Her face was bright red and wet with tears as she wailed for her father.

  “No, no, no!” Travis muttered desperately, throwing himself toward the door.

  It was unlocked, and Travis practically tripped over his loot to get to the vehicle. Barging into two of the creatures, they fell to the ground, giving him time to swing the axe down on the head of the third. Blood spattered over the car window, increasing the volume of Hope’s squealing. Travis didn’t have time to think about that. The second Biter, larger than the others, received the same treatment. Travis swung the axe at arm’s length into its cranium, but the blade became lodged in its skull. It fell to the ground with a thud, almost coming to rest on Travis’ boots.

  He was unable to extricate the weapon, and found himself grappling the last Roamer with just his hands. Hooking his foot behind its knee, Travis tackled it to the ground and hastily stamped on its head, sending a spray of grey matter and gore in all directions and covering his boots.

  Before he’d had a chance to catch his breath, he unlocked the car and pulled his disturbed daughter into his arms. She clung to him, and he had to witness the pain and horror in her eyes as she sobbed, unable to do anything other than hold her, while a river of tears soaked into his shirt and Hope’s body jolted with each uneven breath. She held on to him so hard that he could feel her fingers digging into his back. Burying her head in his neck muffled her distressed cries, while Travis repeatedly ran his fi
ngers through her hair, trying to calm her the only way he knew how.

  Opening the driver’s side door, Travis backed on to the seat holding his daughter.

  “I don’t like the monsters, Daddy,” she sobbed.

  “I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m sorry.”

  Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Travis spotted more. He realised that the feeble amount of luck he did have was dwindling when he noticed that the approaching creatures were neither blind nor shambling. He placed Hope on the passenger seat before making a grab for his loot, throwing it all on the backseat and driving away.

  Scarlett

  After gathering what she could for her journey, including several boxes of codeine to keep the pain from her wound at bay, Scarlett crept to where Colin was sleeping, behind the partition walls. She knew that was where the keys were kept and helped herself to the key to the green estate car.

  She chose that vehicle for two reasons; there would be plenty of space for supplies to be kept while she was on the road, and it was a car that, undoubtedly, would be recognised in an instant by Travis.

  Tip-toeing back through the warehouse, wearing Travis’ leather jacket and with a rucksack slung over one shoulder, weapons over the other, Scarlett stopped in her tracks, surprised to hear a familiar voice.

  “What are you doing, Scar?”

  She slowly turned on the spot and looked into Riley’s face. His eyebrows were raised and his arms folded across his chest.

  “Are you leaving?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Scarlett replied quietly.

  “Why? And how did you get Travis to agree to it? Were you going to tell anyone? Were you going to tell me, Scarlett?”

  His barrage of questions sent Scarlett into an inward panic; she wasn’t sure which he wanted her to answer first, until he confirmed it for her, raising his voice.

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  His stern tone was beginning to provoke the interest of other residents, specifically Jack, River and Quinlan, and they made no secret of the fact that they were listening in.