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

by Viper, Velveteen

  “Not far now, sweetheart.”

  When he looked back, his heart sank. Standing a few feet away was a solitary man, his face partially covered with grubby, torn fabric. Laid across both hands was what appeared to be a fire axe. Travis’ gaze darted to the rear-view mirror in time to watch two others pushing the estate car along the road, blocking Travis’ escape route.

  Approaching his side of the car was another, and the man didn’t allow Travis a chance to gather his wits before forcing the door open. Travis grabbed at the handle in a vain attempt to close it; they fought for power for a few moments, but his efforts came too late.

  Once the stranger pulled the door open far enough, he wedged his shoulders inside. Travis received a blow to the head. He could tell that it wasn’t from a fist, but he was too dazed to see what it was.

  Reaching frantically into the foot well behind Hope’s seat, he managed to lay his hand on his crossbow. Again, he’d acted too late, and the man was grabbing at Travis’ collar, trying to eject him from the car. Hope was screaming. She pulled her legs up and hugged her knees, watching her father struggle.

  Travis was thrown onto the tarmac and the man who’d put him there was in the driver’s seat, accelerating down the packed highway with Hope.

  “My daughter’s in there, you son of a bitch!”

  Travis began to panic. He didn’t have his weapon, and the men who had trapped him were approaching from behind. With his eyes on his vehicle, he tore the hunting knife from his belt and held it firmly in his right hand.

  He had just enough time to wipe the blood trickling down from his hairline with a forearm before he felt hands on him. He turned his body and his blade-wielding arm followed a second after. He squeezed his eyes shut against a spray of blood as the edge connected with the assailant’s throat. The sharp metal pierced through the man’s flesh like it was butter, creating a perfect line across the width of his neck and rapidly soaking his torso with red.

  The next attacker was already grasping at Travis’ shirt, and Travis swung his left elbow back, striking the man in the face. Following with his right, Travis held the knife in his clenched fist, striking him a second time with his knuckles. He was knocked to the floor and Travis heard the unmistakable crack of bone when his head met the ground.

  Turning his attention back to his daughter, Travis ran a short distance closer to the vehicle. Realising that the scavenger was now clear of the abandoned cars and beginning to speed up, Travis tried to buy some time. He stopped and held his knife by the tip before quickly taking aim and throwing as hard as he could. It had the desired effect, punching through the worn rear left tyre.

  The driver had no option but to slow down, giving Travis the chance to catch up. He opened the door and dragged the offender onto the road. Before the man could stand, Travis was towering over him, with one foot either side of the man’s body.

  Without thinking, Travis began thumping him in the head. A few jabs to the face served to knock him out. His mouth, nose and cheeks were bleeding, and Travis noticed that he’d knocked a couple of teeth into the bastard’s throat.

  He scrambled to the car to check on Hope. She was still inconsolable, but a modicum of relief spread across her face on seeing her father.

  After checking that she was in one piece, Travis realised that he still had one final scavenger to deal with and, regrettably, he was the one with an axe. The aggressor swept the fabric from his face, revealing an arrogant, malevolent grin.

  “You can have the car,” Travis panted, “I just want my little girl.”

  “I’m Preston. What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “I’m gonna get her out of the car now, and we’ll go.”

  “No,” he said, stepping closer. He held his axe in one hand, dragging it menacingly along the ground. “You’ve spoiled the car; I can’t drive it now.”

  Travis began backing away toward the rear of the vehicle.

  “Then what?”

  “I’m going to kill you, rob you, and then I’m going to decapitate the pretty little girl. That should make me feel better.”

  As Preston raised the axe above his head, Travis crouched and speedily reached behind himself, dislodging the knife from the tyre. Preston ran at him, and once he was close enough, Travis raised one arm to block the axe swinging down toward his head and shot the blade forward into Preston’s abdomen. He dropped his axe on the ground and Travis placed his free hand on the shoulder of the offender, holding him steady while he twisted the knife and dragged it upwards to his chest.

  While simultaneously pulling on the handle of the knife and pushing against Preston’s shoulder, Travis released his weapon and let the body fall to the ground.

  Hope was at the open driver door, reaching out for her father. He took her in his arms and wasted no time in emptying the boot of their essentials.

  Chapter Five

  Travis

  When Travis opened his eyes to the dawn, the first sound he heard was his daughter’s voice. She was singing. She’d helped herself to some old chalk and scraps of paper and was teetering on one of the wobbly stools. Her singing was tuneful, but she struggled with the words;

  “…I will try my best.... keep you safe inside this nest

  …keep the grabity from pulling you to earth…”

  As sweet as it was, Travis noticed that her volume seemed to increase with every word, and he remembered that the Roamer horde was merely a staircase away.

  “Hope,” he tried, but she was too distracted. “Sweetheart, you’re too loud.”

  When she didn’t respond, Travis made his way to her, stopping suddenly part way when Hope took a breath and Travis heard the heavy tapping of running feet on tiles. He was too late. The Roamers were already aware of their presence.

  Travis didn’t have time to think before they appeared through the window in the door; their hungry mouths opening and closing rapidly in anticipation of meeting warm flesh. Hope screamed and Travis quickly but gently placed a hand over her mouth.

  “Shh, it’s alright. They can’t get in,” he lied, knowing that the amount out there would break through the rickety old door in a matter of minutes.

  Travis hastily observed the room, desperately searching for a way out. He knew that he couldn’t put them all down. They’d overpower him as soon as he opened the door. He realised that their only option was the window. Thinking back to the night before, he was confident that the distance to the ground was manageable, but his next problem was to decide who would go first.

  Either he needed to climb out and trust that Hope would jump down to him, or he could lower her out first, and pray that there were no Roamers lurking on the ground. He chose the latter option and swiftly scooped Hope off the chair.

  “Okay, Hope, this is really important,” he whispered, trying to make his petrified daughter listen. “We have to go out through the window before the monsters get in, alright? So, I’m going to lower you down to the ground--”

  “No, Daddy!” she begged.

  “I promise you’ll be okay.” As he spoke, he slid the window open with ease and dropped his rucksack and crossbow out. The bag flopped onto the concrete below and the crossbow, deliberately better aimed, landed in a holly bush. Travis got to his knees in front of Hope, “I’ll be out right after you, but we have to go now.”

  With tears in her eyes, the little girl nodded, and Travis slipped his hands under her armpits to lift her. He dangled her feet out and gradually lowered her until he was holding her at arm’s length by her hands. It was further than he anticipated, and he was painfully aware of the sound of cracking glass and splintering wood from the Roamers pounding on the door behind him.

  Travis’ whole torso was out of the window, and he had to completely bend double before dropping his daughter a couple of feet to the ground. She landed clumsily and fell to her backside, but stood, seemingly unhurt, and Travis remembered that he’d tossed his boots over by the door. He crept closer, considering grabbing them, but befor
e he could, the flimsy wooden door gave way and the Roamers burst into the room. Back at the window, Travis peered out once more and called down.

  “Hope, you need to move, I’m gonna jump!”

  Travis turned around in time to shunt two Roamers back. They collided with the others, buying him enough time to sit back on the ledge and swing his legs out, before dropping down. He landed with soft knees and shoulder rolled smoothly onto his feet, impressing himself. He turned and looked up briefly at the window before slinging his bag and crossbow over a shoulder and scooping Hope up with his free arm when he noticed the Roamers dangerously close to tumbling out.

  He knew that they just needed to be out of sight and they would give up, so he started to run, further into Shadowhurst, totally desperate to find somewhere safe.

  Scarlett

  Riley was the first to wake in the green estate car. His neck was stiff from leaning awkwardly on the window, and he peered into the back where Scarlett and Quinlan top-and-tailed. The backseats were folded down allowing them to utilise the boot space. They shared the yellow blanket as they had around the fire, and Quinlan’s head was resting on Scarlett’s legs.

  Although still suspicious of Quinlan’s apparently selfish reasons for tagging along, Riley appreciated the mutual understanding he and Scarlett seemed to share. He would tolerate anything if she was comforted.

  Scarlett was facing Riley, and when she slid her eyes open, she found his brown eyes waiting for her. She smiled, and he returned it.

  “Morning,” she said with a sleep-soaked voice. “What time is it?”

  “It’s early,” Riley answered.

  “Good. We should get going; see if we can make it to that spot on the map today. Can you pop the trunk?”

  Scarlett sat up, disturbing Quinlan who was clearly not ready to be awake yet, and Riley did as instructed.

  She groaned with the effort of hoisting herself to her feet and stretched as much as her battered body would allow. While Riley did the same, Scarlett walked round to the driver’s side and climbed in to wait.

  “My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut,” Quinlan announced. “Can we please try and find something decent to eat?”

  “Quinlan, if you keep complaining, your stomach will be right,” Scarlett quipped.

  “You know what? I actually believe you.”

  After stretching his legs, Riley dropped himself back into the passenger seat and Scarlett started the car. Riley unfolded the map and studied it.

  “It’s not far from here, but there’s a highway that might be a problem,” he said.

  “It’s the most direct route, so let’s check it out. Otherwise we’ll find a way around.”

  It only took ten minutes for Scarlett to reach the highway, and when she did, her heart sank. The road was packed with vehicles, including one estate car which was side on to Scarlett’s. She turned off the ignition and climbed out of the car along with Quinlan.

  “Looks like we’re going around then,” Quinlan stated.

  Scarlett opened her mouth to respond, but something in the distance caught her attention. She began running along the highway, faintly able to hear Riley calling her. She ignored him, clambering over the bonnet of the abandoned estate car to get to the black saloon that she recognised as the one missing from the warehouse.

  She was swiftly stopped in her tracks when she spotted the bodies of the four men Travis had slain the day before. Her mouth fell open as she observed the scene and tried to piece together exactly what went down. Continuing toward the car, she noticed the burst tyre and, although she knew there was little chance that they would still be there, she urgently opened the door.

  “Scarlett!” Riley panted, running to catch up. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Travis!” she screamed, desperately looking around. “Hope!”

  “Scarlett, stop.” Riley grabbed her elbows, “You can’t yell like that, you’ll attract Roamers.”

  “They were here, Riley! This was their car.”

  “I know, Scar, and that’s really positive. But let’s go back to the car, get around the highway and head to the next town. That’s where they’ll be if they’re still in the area, right?”

  “Okay,” she agreed, trying to calm her racing heart. “What’s the next town?”

  The three of them got back in the car, this time Riley drove due to the adrenaline coursing through Scarlett’s veins. While she took deep breaths in the passenger seat, Quinlan directed Riley around the highway, and within twenty minutes, they passed the sign, Shadowhurst.

  “Quinlan, show me the map. Where are we?” Scarlett asked.

  Quinlan leant between Riley’s and Scarlett’s seats and pointed to a spot a short distance from the building Scarlett had circled.

  “It should be right up this road.”

  The car came to a stop in front of a large building. Its sharp edges and square architecture gave it an intimidating feel. Nature had begun taking the land back; long, winding vines held on tightly to the bricks and wherever a gap or crack appeared in the pavement, weeds and grass sprouted through, a few feet high in some places.

  Scarlett, Riley and Quinlan advanced toward the entrance with their weapons drawn. Riley took note of the name above the door; Shadowhurst Secondary School, and prayed that it had been one of the few places evacuated at the start.

  A few feet away from the doors, Scarlett spotted a familiar ball of grimy old socks lying on the ground. Despite their colour, she picked them up and studied them.

  “Scarlett, what the fuck are you doing?” Quinlan asked, disgusted.

  “They’re Travis’. I know they are.”

  The double doors were unlocked, and Scarlett let herself in, stuffing the socks into her bag. Her remaining axe stayed elevated, ready to swing. They were faced with a wide, eerie and foreboding hallway. The absence of windows meant it was dark enough for Scarlett to have to use her torch.

  Crouching down in the corridor, she rummaged in her bag for it, along with the suppressor for her pistol. She got to her feet and started to hang her axe from her belt, but she’d risen too quickly. An acute pain struck in her abdomen and the weapon slipped out of her hand, crashing to the floor with a clunk. The three of them froze and the sound resonated through the building for what felt like minutes. Scarlett tried to stifle her pained moans by holding her free hand tightly over her mouth.

  She was back on the ground, and Riley knelt beside her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.

  “What is it, Scar?” he whispered desperately.

  “I’m fine,” she replied, dismissing his concern. “I don’t think there are any Roamers. Travis and Hope could be here. We need to keep looking.”

  But Scarlett had spoken too soon. While Riley helped her to stand, Quinlan was preparing his rifle to fire. Riley noticed and quickly picked up Scarlett’s axe, hooking it onto her belt for her. Rounding the corner of the hall was a horde of at least twenty Biters.

  Riley grabbed Scarlett’s bag and practically dragged her into a classroom and sat her on a blue plastic chair. She watched her companions carry the teacher’s desk to the door, as quietly as they could, barricading themselves inside. The pain she felt was starting to subside and Scarlett continued to take deep breaths, not quite brave enough to stand yet. Riley rushed to her side and the three of them tried to ignore the pounding and slapping of hands from the other side of the door.

  “Are you okay?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

  “Yeah, I’m alright. It’s just the gunshot wound. It’s still really painful.”

  “It’ll need dressing again,” Quinlan pointed out. “We should do it while we can.”

  “What about the Biters?” Scarlett wondered.

  “As long as we’re quiet, they’ll forget about us,” he assured her, getting to his knees and rummaging through his bag for bandages.

  Taking her cue, Scarlett lifted her top and began unravelling the dressing, flinching when she got to the end and realise
d that the wound had been weeping, and the gauze was sticking to her. Riley noticed and poured water from his canteen onto it while Scarlett continued to pull. Once it was off, Quinlan inspected the stitches.

  “There doesn’t seem to be any sign of infection,” he said, getting uncomfortably close to Scarlett’s back, “but I’m no doctor. I’d suggest getting on some antibiotics as a precaution.”

  “I’ll start tomorrow,” Scarlett agreed.

  Riley carefully wound the new bandage around her. When he was done, Scarlett stood and moseyed over to the door.

  “Scarlett, what are you doing?” Riley probed, following her.

  “I have to know, Riley. If Travis and Hope were here, I have to know that they aren’t waiting outside this door.”

  Riley turned to look at Quinlan, hoping he might have some supportive words to counter with. He didn’t. Jerking her axe free again, Scarlett thrust the butt of it into the square glass window at the top of the classroom door and began puncturing the Roamers’ heads with the spike, checking their faces apprehensively.

  The more Roamers that fell, the harder it was for Scarlett to get to the ones still standing as they clambered over bodies. There weren’t many left, so she took hold of the desk and started to drag it out of the way.

  “Wait, no!” Riley panicked, stopping her from getting it any further. “They’re not the shufflers we’re used to dealing with, Scar. You can’t let them in here, they’ll overpower us.”

  “There aren’t many left, Riley. I can put them down.”

  “No, Scarlett, you can’t.”

  “I think I know what I’m capable of better than you.”

  “Apparently you don’t!”

  They continued to argue, keeping up their childish back and forth for a moment before Quinlan had had enough.

  “Scarlett! Sit the fuck down,” he yelled. “And Riley, that’s our way out, so help me.”

  Taken aback by his sudden authority, Scarlett and Riley ceased their petty row and did as instructed. Sitting herself back on the blue chair, Scarlett sighed heavily to show her displeasure.