The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 3)

by Luke Duffy

  Snorting back his tears, Peter brought the pistol up and pressed it against his brother’s temple. The time had come to end his suffering, but Peter hesitated, feeling for a moment that he would also fail in that final task. He closed his eyes tight and tried to steady his hand.

  “Are we going home now, Pete?” Michael’s weakened voice asked.

  “Yeah,” Peter nodded. “That’s right, mate. We’re going home now.”

  The shot was drowned out beneath Peter’s rage and grief filled roar that echoed through the room as he pulled the trigger. His brother convulsed against him for a moment and then suddenly became heavy in his arms. Peter refused to let go of him. As the light of day began to fade, he sat holding him, rocking back and forth as his own sickness continued to grow.

  Sometime during the night his body finally lost its battle, and his breath gave out. Hours later, as the two brothers remained entwined in the final embrace the fingers of Peter’s right hand began to twitch.

  25

  For months they had drifted through the countryside, scavenging anything they could and endlessly on the move. Their perpetual uprooting, however, was not a deliberate decision on their behalf. No matter how quiet they were or how remote their location, the dead always seemed to find them, eventually. No sooner did they make themselves comfortable and begin to breathe again, did the shambling cadavers roaming the land stumble upon them. At first, it was always just a few, but eventually their numbers would grow until the men had no choice but to flee and find a new place to hole up. Stan and his group were tired. Unable to rest and recuperate for any real length of time, they were constantly on the run, and life seemed to be getting harder with each new day.

  There were now just six of them remaining. Stan, Taff, Bull, Kyle, and two of the sailors which were all that was left of Werner’s U-boat crew, the third seaman having died from pneumonia a week after they were washed ashore.

  After a hard and cold night, shivering wildly to the point that their chattering teeth threatened to crack, the team had headed east. Their intention was to reach one of the caches that Bull, Danny, and Marty had placed almost two months prior. It took them a week to reach the first one, their hopes quickly being dashed when they saw that the location had been discovered by raiders. The vehicles, weapons, food, and water… it was all gone.

  From there, they turned north, hoping to find the next cache intact. What they found was a place swarming with the dead. Taff cursed the others for having placed the equipment too close to an urban area, and a fight had broken out between him and Bull. As they sat nursing their wounds, Stan and Kyle attempted to lure away the hordes of infected from the area. However, the ruse did not work. They only attracted more of the dead to the vicinity. Eventually, they conceded defeat and moved on, headed further north and deeper into the unforgiving and cold wilderness. They avoided cities and built-up areas, but nevertheless, the hordes of walking dead seemed to be drawn to their life-force. No sooner had they caught their breath, then they would need to be on the move again.

  Stan and Taff were sitting on the hilltop watching the two distant figures as they slowly approached. They had been waiting for hours, suffering the freezing rain and the bitter wind that never seemed to let up. Above them, the blanket of grey and blacks seemed so vast and thick that they began to wonder whether the sun actually still shone above the earth.

  As they bounced from one village and town to the next, they grabbed anything that could be of use to them. They had found some weapons along their travels; a few discarded army rifles and a shotgun, but they were low on ammunition and far from being a fighting force. Each member of the group had a means to protect himself, either with a pistol or one of the SA-80s, but none of them had the ability to launch any kind of attack against the swarms of dead that infested the landscape. Not a single round had been fired for almost a month as the team did their best to conserve the precious ammunition, and more importantly, remain undetected.

  Bull and Kyle were getting closer, climbing the steep hill after carrying out a reconnaissance of the village below. Stan eyed them, but it was hard to tell if they had met with any success during their mission. They moved as though every step was a real effort, like exhausted climbers reaching for the summit of Mount Everest.

  “Bollocks,” Taff huffed beside him with disappointment. “Looks like they’re coming back empty-handed again.”

  Even from a distance, he could see that neither of the men were laden with the treasures that they had all hoped to find in the built-up area. They had chosen that particular town due to its remoteness and small population. It was surrounded by high windswept hills that even the dead tended to avoid. The land was inhospitable, especially during the harsh winters, and to anyone under-prepared or ill-equipped, the environment was unforgiving. It had been for those very reasons that Stan had earmarked the village for a raid, sure that they would finally catch a break. The only road in or out ran through the centre, dissecting the hamlet in two as it followed the lay of the land, hand railing a fast flowing river. It seemed a sure bet that they would find some food and maybe even a place to rest for a while.

  “For fuck sake,” Stan grunted, shaking his head with disappointment.

  “How many more times do we need to hit a brick wall out here? There must be somewhere that’s still untouched.”

  “I thought the same thing, but I’m starting to wonder.”

  Bull and the veteran finally made it to the crest of the hill. They paused for a moment, catching their breath from the steep climb. They were carrying one of the assault rifles each, providing them both with better firepower during their mission should they need it. They turned and headed towards the spot where Stan and Taff sat waiting for them. The wind on the high-ground buffered them from the side, causing their sodden clothing to billow. The pair of them looked miserable and disheartened. They were tired of surviving from one day to the next, barely able to remain on their feet by the time that darkness arrived. Their gloomy faces spoke a thousand words as they closed in.

  “Well?” Taff asked with hope as the two drenched men dropped themselves down on to the wet grass beside him.

  Kyle looked at him and shook his head, rubbing his hands together, and then blowing his hot breath into his cupped palms.

  “Fuck me, it’s cold,” he grumbled.

  “What month is it? I think it’ll be Christmas soon,” Taff added without really thinking about what he was saying. His mouth was in gear, but his brain was not. He knew that the raid had been unsuccessful, but at that moment he did not want to share in their frustration.

  Nobody paid him any attention. They were either too busy trying to warm themselves up or contemplating their next move after another failed raid. Food had become scarce, and what little they did find was never enough to sustain six grown and continuously active men. Already they had lost a lot of body weight. Even Bull’s tattered clothing seemed to hang limply from his normally bulky frame. They were wasting away, and although none of them spoke of it, they all knew that they would eventually starve if things continued as they were.

  “What’s going on down there?” Stan asked, and nodded towards the urban area, knowing that the answer would be the same as always.

  “There’s a lot of them down there,” Bull spat, glaring with a glowering hatred towards the rooftops in the distance.

  “A ‘lot’?” Taff replied, wanting clarification.

  “Yeah, Taff, a ‘lot’,” Bull snarled back at him. It had been a while since him and Taff had been getting along, and neither of them seemed to have any patience left for one another. They rarely spoke now, and when they did it was mainly insults and threats. “It’s an actual, countable number. It comes between ‘quite-a-few’ and a ‘shit-ton’.”

  “Calm it down, Bull,” Stan warned.

  He could see that the frustration the big man felt was beginning to get the better of him, but the last thing that he needed was him and Taff beating each other to a pulp over a gam
e of words. The tattered remains of their group could not afford to be carrying casualties at that point in time, and he was all too aware that if Taff and Bull found themselves in a slugging match, neither of them would be of any use for a while. They had only just recovered from their last tussle, and luckily the other four members of their group had been able to separate them before things went too far.

  “Before the world went tits up, did you ever try to walk through Marks and Spencer on pension day when there was a sale on?” the veteran asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, that would give you some idea of what it’s like down there.”

  “What buildings we did manage to get into had already been cleared out,” Bull grunted. “I think that’s why there’s so many of them down there. Someone else once had the same idea that we did.”

  The four of them headed back to their hideout. It was a decrepit house situated in the middle of nowhere and at one point was probably somebody’s retreat from the hustle and bustle of modern society. It was hard to tell for sure, but the place seemed to have been deserted for years. The doors and windows were broken and hanging from their hinges allowing the freezing wind to penetrate through to the men inside. The roof leaked with rain, and the floors were rotten through. The only saving grace the place had was that it was so remote it would afford them a few days before any herds of infected stumbled upon them. The six of them sat huddled together. They had found a few sleeping bags and other outdoor equipment during their searches of derelict and remote buildings and now sat sharing what heat they could.

  “Shame we can’t start a fire,” Bull moaned as he lay next to Stan, watching his breath mist above his head.

  “You know what happened the last time,” Stan grumbled sleepily.

  “Yeah, I remember. Taff made a bonfire and sent out a signal to every pus-bag in the country that we were running an ‘all you can eat’ buffet.”

  “Fuck off,” Taff snorted from the darkness.

  The group fell back into silence for a while. There were a few snores from those who had managed to drift off, but the remainder huffed and sighed endlessly. They were suffering, and most of them felt that there must be other options available to them. They had scoured the land, rummaging through ransacked houses and stores, searching for food and equipment. However, it seemed that someone had always gotten there before them.

  Taff began to wonder and voiced that maybe there was someone following the group and playing a cruel trick on them. He knew that it was not the case, but he could not help but think it from time to time.

  “This is shit,” Kyle suddenly growled and sat up, pulling the sleeping bag away from himself in frustration and receiving a number of curses from the others as the cold air was allowed in and assaulted their bodies. “This is utter shit, Stan, and you know it.”

  “Yeah, it’s shit,” Stan replied groggily and pulling his woolly hat further down over his face. “What do you want me to do about it? Buy you a caravan?”

  “Tell him what we were talking about,” the veteran spat, slapping his hand down on Bull’s shoulder.

  “Tell him what?” Bull asked innocently, completely in the dark as to what the veteran was thinking and feeling at that moment.

  “You remember? What we were talking about when we were on our way back from the village before.”

  “Ah, yeah, I remember,” Bull replied in a sleepy voice. “You tell him.”

  “Fuck it. Okay, I’ll tell him then. Lazy cunt,” Kyle huffed and turned, looking to where Stan was lying. He took in a breath and rubbed his hands together. “Right now, I reckon it’s our best option.”

  “What’s our best option? Spit it out so we can go back to sleep,” Taff grunted.

  “Steve and Mark reckon it could work,” Kyle began as he nodded towards the area where the two remaining crew members of the U-boat lay. “Steve was a mechanic on that old tin can, and Mark was an electrician.”

  “I was trained as an electrician,” a voice rumbled groggily from beneath the sleeping bag. “I was actually a helmsman.”

  “Ah, so it was you who crashed the boat?” Bull stated. He was making a joke, but only he knew that it was not an actual accusation. His voice sounded sincere in his comment.

  “I didn’t crash the fucking boat,” Mark snapped, springing up from his lying position and spitting with venom through the darkness towards Bull. The comment had clearly struck a nerve, and Bull wondered if the man had been harbouring a feeling of guilt the whole time since the boat sank.

  “Okay. Easy, tiger,” Bull replied in a calm but mocking voice. “I was just pulling on your pig-tales, my little princess.”

  Before the argument became heated, Kyle continued to speak, shutting Bull and Mark up before either of them said something that could result in a fight, or worse, a screaming match that would attract unwanted attention from the surrounding woods and country lanes.

  “Alright, well, Steve was a mechanic, and Mark was trained as an electrician. Anyway, they reckon that they could get it fixed up and working, providing that there isn’t too much wrong with it.”

  “Will someone put me out of my misery and tell me what the fuck you’re going on about so that I can get back to trying to sleep?” Taff groaned.

  “The ship,” Bull replied with a sigh. “He’s talking about that ship you all saw just before that bean tin was pulled from under us. Kyle’s just being dramatic.”

  “You mean the ferry?” Taff asked with surprise, remembering the vessel they had seen anchored in the Irish Sea.

  “Yeah, the ferry, battleship, or cruise liner… whatever the fuck it was. But that’s what he’s on about—us fixing it up,” Bull replied impatiently.

  Stan sat up. It was hard to see him in the darkness, but the ruffling noises coming from his direction and the dark silhouette that suddenly jutted up from the pile of bodies confirmed that he had taken an interest in what the veteran was saying. He removed his woollen hat and scratched his scalp in the cool air before replacing it back on his head and pulling it down over his ears.

  “That ship was crawling with those sacks of shit. You do know that, don’t you?” he asked, wanting to confirm that Kyle was fully aware of the inherent dangers of what he was suggesting.

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s got to be worth a try. If we’re methodical and careful, we could get the place cleared, and keep it for ourselves.”

  “What if there’s nothing worth keeping?”

  “It’s a risk worth taking, Stan. We’re starving and freezing to death out here. We’ve entered a dozen towns and villages and always come out virtually empty handed with those things biting at our arses. It’s no less of a risk, in my eyes. Plus, once we’ve cleared the place, it’s not like more of them are going to show up. It’s a fucking island.”

  Stan remained quiet for a while, clearly weighing up the odds. He grumbled, clearing his throat and snorting deeply before spitting out a wad of phlegm in the direction of the open doorway. He turned towards the dark mound to his left where Mark and Steve were lying, listening to the conversation, and wondering which way it was going to go.

  “You lads think you can get it going?”

  The pair of them sat up together and watched the dark shapes around them as Stan and the others waited for their reply. At first, neither of them seemed willing to commit to any decision. They had been with the group for months, but they still did not feel fully integrated amongst them and lacked the confidence to go with their instincts.

  “Well? Can you or can’t you?”

  “As long as there’s fuel and no real damage to the engines and generators, I don’t see why we couldn’t get it up and running,” Steve finally replied from the gloom.

  “Okay,” Stan nodded after a few minutes of thought while the others sat around him, waiting patiently for his verdict. “We’ve nothing to lose. We’ll move out first thing in the morning and head for the coast.”

  They sat in silence for a while, contemplating what it was that they were plan
ning to do. It was a big risk, but they had few other choices left to them. One by one, the group lay back down as they accepted that they would be going ahead with the new plan. They lay staring up at the blackness, filled with a mixture of trepidation and hope, but it was more than most of them had felt in quite some time.

  “I’ve got dibs on the Captain’s bunk,” Bull grunted, turning back onto his side and quickly falling into a deep sleep.

  END

  Read on for a free sample of Bravo Two Zombie

  Chapter One

  "We Need To Kill Him"

  'We've got a bleed on the north wall. Go into lock down,' shouted Craig Anderson sprinting to the modified Land Rover Discovery, his four most trusted men in his team close behind.

  'What sector?' checked Tom Parfitt, slamming the vehicle into first gear. The huge tyres complained, sending up a plume of smoke as the rubber heated, melted, and smeared another set of black track marks across the garage floor of one of the mobile bases of Bravo Two Zombie Squad, its blaring siren warning of its approach.

  'Sector 14,' snapped Pump from the back seat.

  'Put out the warning, Pump,' ordered Anderson.

  Pump was his comms man and got his name from his choice of weapon, an 870 Magnum pump action shot gun.

  Pressing a series of keys on the on-board communications laptop, he linked into the Fort London BWS (Bleed Warning System) and sent out an automated warning. Within two seconds, a pre-recorded message boomed out through the numerous tannoys set around the fort, warning the populace to keep away from Sector 14, an area taking in part of Tottenham. Immediately, there was a stampede, as men, women, and children, panicked within the sector. Emergency steel walls, which divided the fort into small containment areas, had already slammed up into position from underground, separating Sector 14 from the rest of Fort London.

  Any of the populace in a sector at the time of a bleed would be trapped by the hydraulically operated automated walls, which would be activated at the first warning call. There, the unlucky ones would stay until the clearance units had filtered through the isolated zone. Each member of the populace would be screened for bites and infection. Each person at the fort knew every one of the 100 sectors in Fort London. It was part of their conditioning to memorise them like the alphabet, and automatically react at the first warning call of a zombie break-in. Despite regulations not to, many of the populace would try to escape the sector before the steel walls were activated. However, the CCTV network would pick them up, or other members of the fort would point them out as needing screening, as the only way the fort could stay un-infected by the plague and remain Pure.