by T. A. Sorsby
‘I don’t want twenty more Deserters about here.’ Damian grunted, ‘Think we should be reloading guns?’
‘I don’t want to miss anything, it’s going to be the only current-events news we get for a long while.’ Lucile drawled.
I looked over to her, reminded of that reporter outside Mercy Hospital, when the riot kicked off, and that mercenary hopped off the bus just before everything went bloody and shaky-cam. She was the same reporter who gave the final broadcast. I hoped she was still alive, holed up in the VBC Studio. Maybe if things didn’t pan out at GCR, that’d be a place to swing by, since the zombies had moved out of the city now.
The truck came to a stop as the headlights fell on Neville’s car. I could see inside the cab from here, sort of. People were moving around inside, getting ready to disembark.
*
Thirty One
‘You say I missed something?’ Neville himself asked, stepping out onto the now crowded balcony.
‘Big truck,’ I grimaced, ‘they just saw your car and they’ve stopped. If they heard the gunshots they must have worked out this is where they came from.’
‘My turn?’ Morgan asked me.
Begrudgingly, I handed over the binoculars.
‘They’re getting out of their truck,’ Laurel informed us, ‘mixed bag of camouflage and black fatigues again. One of them just went around to the back of the truck and another went to your car,’ she said, tilting her head to Neville.
‘He’s found something in the road,’ Neville kept the commentary up, ‘bent down to pick it up. You fired at their vehicle, D? Could be an empty shell.’
‘Couple more guys getting out the back of the truck. Can’t tell from here for sure, doesn’t look like they’re in uniform, but they’re armed. Rifles, shotguns, something like.’ Laurel said, sucking her teeth.
‘How many’s that now?’ Lucile asked.
‘Six, two more just got out of the front, can’t tell if any more are in the back or if they’ve all gotten out.’ Neville said, passing his binoculars off to her.
‘Borrow your rifle?’ I asked Laurel, wanting to see again.
‘Bugger that.’ She shot back.
‘Can I?’ Anita tried.
Laurel shrugged out of the strap, and handed it over. She stuck her tongue out at me. ‘That’s for all the ear-jokes, those past and them still to come.’
‘Their guns are up, and they’re entering the plaza.’ Anita kept us posted, ‘They look well drilled for it, even the couple who may not be in uniform.’
‘How come you can’t tell?’ Damian asked.
‘Not much difference between camo bottoms you can buy in a store and ones you get because you’re a squaddie,’ Neville said, passing him his own set of binoculars, ‘the others have vests, helmets, geared up. Ones without might just be dressed for the occasion.’
‘Guess not everyone goes for a leather-based look?’ Lucile suggested. ‘Either way…we thinking about putting up one of those road flares, or playing possum?’
‘I go with the rodent,’ Morgan said with a nervous laugh, handing her the binoculars, ‘squeak squeak.’
‘That…is a lot of guns.’ Lucile nodded. ‘They’re better armed than the guys we just went up against. Could be Deserters too, but if ya’know…if they are the CDC’s legit forces, this could be a good time to wave hello.’
I scratched my chin. She might have been right. It’d certainly save us the trouble of having to deal with Sachs again if she was. But if she wasn’t - we’d be advertising our position to another group of Deserters who might take umbrage with us killing their scouting party, looting their bodies, and sending up the mayday signal with their own fireworks.
‘They’ve seen the Deserters’ bodies on the ground,’ Anita told us, ‘they look spooked, checking the plaza for lines of fire - taking cover. You guys didn’t lock the pawnshop up?’
‘No?’ I frowned.
‘Two just went in, think they must have seen the broken glass…one of them’s in the upstairs window now.’
‘Wish we’d have thought of posting a lookout.’ Laurel sighed, making a face.
‘They’re opening the shutters, got flashlights on their guns…now they’re entering the shop…left two guys where we were by the fountain, third guy in the pawnshop window.’
‘You see if they’ve got scopes on their guns too?’ I asked. ‘Might not look too kindly if they see you looking at them down yours.’
‘Can’t tell from here, but if one of them looks this way, what do you want me to do, shoot them or wave?’ she asked, in her serious voice. She checked the rifle was chambered. She wasn’t kidding - and after what we’d been through already tonight, I’d be surprised if her’s was the only itchy trigger finger in the group.
It was another one of those weird moments, like a disconnection from reality. Again, people were expecting me to make the call - people better qualified, surely, to make this kind of choice?
I tried to reason it out, lay the facts in front of me. First and foremost; if these were Deserters, another part of the group we’d fought earlier, then getting the first shot off now would be a hell of an advantage for us, with a long-range rifle from the top of a tower block. Many a spree killer had picked the same sort of situation for their mental breakdown.
But if we fired first, that’s what we’d be. Killers. We’d be the bad guys in this. That whole situation with the Deserters earlier, they’d been clearly in the wrong, and we’d just defended ourselves. Firing first, that’s different. We didn’t even know if these were Deserters. They could have been the CDC’s people - Sydow Security out gathering supplies and intel, perhaps even in touch with GCR.
On the other hand again - there was no telling who they were, not from here. The safest option then, the only safe option really, was to take the third option.
‘If they scope up here, tell us to duck,’ I ordered, trying to put some authority in my voice, ‘we all get down. Pretend like we’re not home. If they come knocking on the tower or start shouting up to us, then we know we’re rumbled, but unless that happens, we keep quiet. Too much risk involved in making contact again tonight.’
That sounded a lot better than “let’s hide”.
‘I can get with that.’ Lucile nodded.
‘Smart play, I bet.’ Neville assented.
‘Look, down on the road they came in by.’ Anita said, her voice dropping lower. ‘They’re coming.’
‘My turn again yet?’ I asked everyone. Damian handed me Neville’s binoculars.
It took me a moment to spot them, but Anita was right, they were coming. Zeds. Dozens of them, out from the city centre, like we’d seen them doing earlier in the day.
‘Everyone, be really really quiet…’ Morgan whispered, her voice barely a breath. ‘They’re not just on the road…’
I didn’t need the binoculars to see the ones moving around in our car park - dark figures dotted here and there, some brighter for wearing white before they turned, now stained with red and brown. They must have moved out this way from that fuck-up at Smith Casey’s Garage.
‘Good job we didn’t light a flare,’ Laurel muttered, ‘we’d be up to our arses in zeds.’
‘They’re about to be though,’ Neville said, and I could tell he was scrunching his face up. ‘Still think you’re right though, let’s not expose ourselves…’
‘So to speak.’ Laurel added, drawing a tense, quiet titter from Morgan.
I watched the zeds get closer to the plaza, drawn to the area earlier by the gunfire, then drawn more closely to the shopping precinct by the approach of that truck, with its big, rumbling engine. Deserters or not, I wished there were some way I could have warned the men over there what was coming without drawing the zombies onto us instead.
But I didn’t need to. The soft moans and shuffling feet of the approaching dead were lost to us up here, but down on the ground, their lookout had already seen the dead coming, and the three gunmen in the plaza were aiming thei
r weapons towards the road. I bit my bottom lip as the first of them came up the embankment.
One shot pierced the quiet of the night, and the zombie dropped. That’s when the runners in the mob emerged, enraged by the sound of the gunshot, they screeched aloud and began that staggering lope forwards, arms waving as they jostled their way through the slower moving zeds.
Two more shots, and the first pair of front-runners went down, one of them still thrashing, the shot not a kill, but enough to put it on the ground. The gunfire became more rapid - hard to shoot the head when its tossing from one side to the other.
One of the gunmen rose from his position behind the fountain, and kicked the runner as it closed in, planting a boot into its belly that knocked it to the ground, before putting a round into its head. The second shooter and the lookout kept him covered, the zombies coming up the grassy verge in larger numbers, the bulk of the mob closing in - and still below us, stragglers were moving across the tarmac and through the trees, over the Jamesons’ graves.
‘Never seen so many of them,’ Lucile hissed, ‘damn, damn…what do we do if they see us?’
‘Hope we can defend the stairwell.’ I told her, ‘Just keep quiet, and we won’t have to.’ I didn’t need the binoculars now. I gave them to her, let someone else have a turn. Those guys would either make it out, or they wouldn’t.
More gunshots, different calibre, different weapons, began to sound out. The rest of their party had arrived to join in the defence against the mob. They were managing to hold their own, from the look of it; keeping to single-fire shots and patiently putting down one at a time. They were trained, like Anita had said. But how long would their ammo hold out?
Maybe they had the same thought. One of them closed the shutters on the co-op, and the lookout disappeared from the window, to join the others. Keeping close to the shop fronts, they fought their way back towards their truck, shooting and shoving anything that got close, keeping their little cordon moving. I wouldn’t have liked to have been in their shoes right now, in open ground with scores those things, it made my skin crawl to think there were so many of them, just a stone’s throw from our safe place.
The soldiers made it to their truck, one guy opening the passenger side of the cab, climbing up and in. Someone shut the door on him, and the rest of the squad moved to the back of the truck as the headlights blinked to life. The driver put it into reverse - hopefully not before all his people were onboard - and then turned in the road, mounting the pavement.
‘Looks like they all got out.’ Anita confirmed, still scoped in.
‘Zeds seem to be following the truck, back towards the city centre.’ Neville observed. ‘At least they’re not sticking around here.’
‘How many you say be down there?’ Damian asked.
Neville shook his head, and stared down, brow furrowed. ‘A lot. A hundred, more? There’s a lot less bodies in the plaza than are going after that truck.’
‘Show’s over, everyone.’ I muttered, reminding everyone else to keep it down too, ‘Back inside. We don’t want to get spotted, end up in that positon.’
I was last off the balcony, gently closing the door behind me. Everyone else was taking up their seats again, in the living room, or on the kitchen stools. I had already made enough speeches today, done my part to rally the troops, so I just went to sit back down too.
Silence loomed.
‘It’s your turn.’ I reminded Neville.
He picked up the dice, and rolled.
Eventually, the chatter picked up again, the ladies carried on with their poker and we even managed to finish the game in one night. The coolbox of beer, still keeping so-so on the cool front, seemed to be receiving constant refills, so I was feeling pretty tipsy by the time came to say goodnight.
‘Stay safe,’ Laurel waved to Lucile as her and Damian walked to the stairwell, ‘hear things can get interesting on the thirteenth floor…’
‘Scandal.’ Lucile smirked in reply.
Laurel would be bunking with me again, Anita taking up the Jamesons’ bedroom once more. If she were to move in full time, we’d need to redecorate. Maybe go down to the hardware store, pick out some new wallpaper and flat-pack furnishings.
That sent me spiralling down a whole, semi-drunk line of thought about shopping. Nobody would have to go to discount clothing outlets anymore, we could just walk right into high end tailors’, get the menfolk some sharp suits, flashy dresses for the ladies - end the world in style and luxury, cooking over survival fires with our silk ties and cufflinks. It made me chuckle at least.
‘What’re you laughing at?’ Laurel asked, her words coming a little sluggish, not quite a slur, but from a place of comfortable intoxication. I was likely the same.
‘Just thinking, about things. Stuff.’ I shrugged, heading into the kitchen to…put the kettle on. Hmm.
‘That’s a convenience I’m gonna miss.’ She observed, walking up to pat me on the back. ‘I’ll be getting changed, don’t walk in on me.’
‘I’ll amuse myself, pretending to make tea.’ I called over my shoulder, as she disappeared into my bedroom.
I sat down on the arm of my sofa instead, not wanting to get comfortable. I wondered how those soldiers were sleeping tonight. Did they have a big, communal bunkhouse somewhere, or were they working out of a hotel, everyone with their own private suite? By now you know my mind works like this whether I have or haven’t been drinking.
Laurel had stayed with me that first night because she didn’t want to be alone. Neither of us did. That feeling was still there, but now I was less sure it was about losing people we loved - Katy, Dani. I think now, we were more worried about keeping the ones we still had.
‘That a pistol in your hand or are you just pleased to see me?’ Laurel asked, as I set the large revolver down by the bed.
I wasn’t self-conscious about changing in front of Laurel - the boxer shorts never came off. She wolf whistled as I changed, settling into bed in her oversized sleep-shirt. It was damn cold, so I had to put actual pyjamas on to sleep in, dark, stripy ones. Stripes are cheerful. They promised that tomorrow would be a good day. The liars.
*
Thirty Two
I think I dreamt I was Garage Guy, the unfortunate accountant we’d met, looking for the gas pump. Everything was really dark, then there was this bright light, and the screaming started. I ran, but my feet wouldn’t carry me. Hands reached out and grasped from all sides. I thrashed and struggled, realising it was all a dream, fighting my way up to the surface, through layers of sleep.
Laurel hadn’t woken up. I slipped out of bed and did the usual things with the bathroom. Water still hadn’t given up on us, so I was able to flush and brush.
Quietly, I got some things from my wardrobe and drawers and got dressed in the living room, putting on yesterday’s jeans with a grey shirt and a dark green zip-up hoodie - the clouds were iron grey, set to rain again, so I’d need every layer to keep the cold off. Bloody weather.
Hair brushed and weapons retrieved, I crossed the hall and let myself into the communal apartment to get started on breakfast. Maybe it was some ingrained sleep-pattern from her job, but Anita was already up, bustling around the kitchen, putting glass bottles into a plastic shopping bag, as if to take to the recycling bins. What would we do with all our waste now?
‘Morning, Kelly.’ She winced, picking the bag up.
‘Good morning. You alright?’ I asked.
‘Shoulder. Now I know it’s seeping it’s starting to hurt. Think that’s just in my head.’ She added, setting the bag down by the door. ‘Rubbish bags. No idea what to do with them.’
‘I’m sure Morgan will think of some ingenious method of recycling the recycling. There anything I can do?’
‘For my arm? No, I don’t think so.’
‘What if you get worse? I think we’d know by now if you were going to turn, but I mean, standard infection? What do we do?’
‘There a pharmacy around here somewhere?’
she asked.
I shook my head, ‘Not anywhere close. Short drive, I can think of two. One near the garage we got the gas pump from, the in-house pharmacy for a doctors’ practice. The other one’s further in towards the city - possible detour on the way out to GCR.’
‘We’ll see if it gets any worse….’ She sighed.
‘We’re good for food, water and weapons,’ I gestured over the kitchen side, stacked with supplies and scattered with the guns I’d retrieved from last night, ‘medicine would be good about now. Especially if we actually need it.’
‘You’re…a good friend, Kelly.’ Anita smiled, putting her hand over mine on the kitchen island. ‘Now empty out one of your guns, I’m going to teach you how to stand when you shoot. Can’t believe Nev hasn’t already.’
‘I gave him some wiseass remark about cowboys so I think he wrote me off as a lost cause. Nev, eh?’ I hummed, eyebrow raised.
‘It’s what my Dad always called him. Thought I’d try it out. Too much?’
‘Nev. Nev. I don’t know. Not saying you shouldn’t, I just can’t wrap my brain around it.’ I told her, taking rounds out of the Cobra. I spun the cylinder to make sure there wasn’t a mysterious seventh shot lurking in there, and snapped it back in with a flick of the wrist because I’m way cool.
‘Stand there, middle of the room, and do what you’d normally do if you were aiming at something.’ She said, leaning on the kitchen island.
I planted my legs apart in the middle of the living room carpet, and aimed for the bedroom door, cupping my own hand and the butt of the pistol with my left, finger on the trigger with my right.
For a moment, I wondered if maybe this was why Edgar left his gun outside of the room. Perhaps he expected they’d turn after death, and had provided us with a means to quickly…deal with them if so. Likely, I was reading too much into it.
‘Pause…’ Anita said, walking over. ‘Finger outside of the trigger guard unless you’re about to pull. No accidental discharges - its awkward for everyone,’ she added with a wry smile, ‘that analogy actually helped drill the lesson in for me. In the same vein, gun safety, don’t ever point the barrel towards something you don’t want to shoot. Safest place to point it is down at the ground.’