by T. A. Sorsby
She walked over to the kitchen sink, holding her head over it for a moment and taking a shuddering breath. She sniffed back a tear, and then looked out of the window. I turned to do the same, the window in the top of the back door, twitching the net curtain out of the way.
‘Prefer ketchup on bacon.’ She said. ‘Clear in the garden.’
‘And clear upstairs,’ Neville said, coming into the kitchen. ‘But poor line of sight on GCR’s second storey.’
‘We’ll try over the garden then. If we’ve got no shot there, then we’ll have to go ahead without a lookout.’
‘Laurel said anything about me, from yesterday?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.
‘She was pissed, just blowing off steam. She’s not going to put a bullet in you, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘Was actually just hoping she didn’t hold my actions against Morgan. If she’s going to be watching Laurel’s back, I don’t want there to be any tension.’
‘Hah, don’t worry Neville. They’re cool. Now, get the others searching this place,’ I said, ‘Anita and I will check out the next house over.’
‘Good luck.’ He nodded to me, but went to Anita before he set about it, giving her another declaration of our support. I think he also said that ketchup has no place on bacon.
Eventually we found a set of keys in the kitchen which unlocked the back door, leading out onto a deck, two steps above the garden. The grass was getting a little on the longer size, a kid-sized football half buried in the growth.
At the bottom of the garden, a wooden panel fence separated the boundary between this one and the next. From here, it looked as though any upper storey window on the left side would have a shot into the upstairs corridor.
‘Boost me over the fence.’ Anita said, holstering her weapon as we approached. She tossed her crowbar over, but I left the bolt cutters on the garden table.
‘We could just smash our way through.’ I suggested, giving the fence a little push. It was quite sturdy.
‘Make noise, this close to the place we’re sneaking in to? You’re supposed to be smarter than that.’
‘I think I just wanted to see more wanton destruction. You sure you want to go first?’ I asked, ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Ladies first. I’ll help pull you over, if you’re worried you can’t make it on your own.’
‘Got me.’ I confessed.
I crouched slightly to brace myself, and cupped my hands for her boot. It was textured and pointed for extra grip, plus moist and muddy from the damp grass, but I managed to help her get high enough to swing a leg over.
Sat atop the fence in what could not have been a comfortable position, she offered out a hand. I wiped mine off on my jeans before taking it, then placed one hand on the top of the fence. I jumped, pulling myself, scrambling for purchase on the panels and after a moment, getting my arm over.
From there, a leg, and from there, an undignified but successful drop to my feet on the other side. Anita swung her other leg over, coming to the ground much more gracefully. She’d had help.
This garden wasn’t as well kept as the other, the grass here was in need of a few sheep before it got the lawnmower treatment, and rather than decking or steps up to the back door, there was a pile of loose bricks next to paint tins and some boxes under a tarp. The back door was old, wooden, and Anita’s crowbar found purchase after a good shove and a few false starts.
‘This going to be loud?’ I asked.
‘Hopefully not. I’ll be gentle.’
‘Did you-’
‘See if it was locked? Yeah.’ She grunted, straining at the crowbar. Wood creaked, and began to splinter.
Rather than applying more pressure, she wriggled it deeper into the door, and rocked pressure back and forth, the wood straining and groaning. It went on for more than two minutes, or a subjective hour in my head. The softly-softly approach would make less noise, and with thirty plus zeds probably within earshot, we were taking caution over speed.
Eventually, she gave one long pull on it, and the sufficiently weakened, rusted, elderly lock gave way, a crunch maybe half as loud as throwing the phonebook on the floor.
Her face twisted, ears straining to hear the moaning of anything inside. All I could hear were the faint moans and rattling of the fence from the zeds we already knew about.
‘I think we’re good.’ I said, taking my bayonet out.
‘Then let’s do this.’ She nodded, pistol drawn.
*
Thirty Six
Laurel got into position in an upstairs bedroom, one of the few rooms in the house that didn’t look like it was newly gutted, though it wasn’t exactly finished. The bed, draped over with a dust sheet, was at a good height for her to kneel, resting her gun on the window ledge.
Plastic sheeting was down in most rooms, with wallpaper stripped or first-coats painted most everywhere else. Toolboxes, cordless drills and stacks of construction materials were here and there, but unless we suddenly needed to barricade ourselves inside, or maybe put up a partition wall, they weren’t going to be much use to us.
The kitchen floor was down to bare boards, not much there besides an old stove and a tea making setup on top of a small fridge. Looked as if the apocalypse had ruined somebody’s renovation plans. Neville moseyed over to the biscuit tin the workmen had left, and inspected the contents.
Out in the garden, Lucile and Damian had set a shiny new aluminium ladder up against the hedge, and were dropping a second one down the other side to make climbing over easier, in case we needed to make a retreat.
The plan was to head back over the ladders, grab the set on this side of the garden, and use it to quickly get over the fence back to the first house – we could just go straight down the gap between the houses and the radio station, but that’d lead zeds right to the 4x4, rather than leave them clawing at a hedge.
‘Mwant one?’ Neville asked, popping a chocolate biscuit in whole.
I accepted, and gestured with it gratefully, before joining Anita at the living room window. It was a bay, so stuck out a little ways from the side of the house. Without curtains, we were pretty exposed, but it did get us a good look at the zombies pressed up by the gates.
‘Neville was about right. Must be at least thirty.’ She reported, ‘Looks like there’s more around the corner of the fence too. Our side’s clear, but this could be the beginnings of a horde forming. Wonder what drew them in…’
Morgan tapped me on the shoulder.
‘Everything okay upstairs?’ I asked.
‘No, you need to come see this…’ she cringed, swallowing hard.
Anita and me both went with her, to the bedroom where Laurel knelt on the covered bed. She scooted over, and nodded out the window.
‘Take a look, in the car park,’ she said, ‘took me a minute, I wasn’t sure, but…’
A familiar looking black SUV was parked up inside the GCR fence, having pulled into a spot nose-first. Both front doors were still open, no sign of anyone nearby. There were a lot of black trucks in a city of Greenfield’s size, but it was too much of a coincidence, especially after we’d suspected foul play already. I’d put money on the back window being shot out.
Several zeds also lay dead between the SUV and the doors, as if the gates didn’t open and shut fast enough – they had to fight a retreat.
Anita went first. ‘Shit.’
‘Yeah,’ I concurred, ‘reckon it’s them?’
‘Looks like.’ She sighed. ‘At least now we know what we’re dealing with.’
‘In my head, this was the worst case scenario…’ I groaned.
‘Arseholes want a way out of the city too.’ Laurel spat, ‘After we got the rest of their crew, they’re running scared.’
‘Could be it…’ I frowned, thinking back to our earlier visit to the radio station. ‘Or maybe they’ve been based out of that station the whole time.’
‘The sixth man, Carl Sachs’ little slip of the tongue?’ Laurel
asked. ‘You said he mentioned there were more in his group, people who went out to get things for the signal relay. Figures you can’t get kit like that at the hardware store – Deserters probably went to their old base to strip it for parts or something.’
‘How many shooters could we be looking at?’ Anita asked, unconsciously sliding towards her gun.
‘One woman had a shotgun, but my gut says that was just for show, probably not loaded, and probably not a hostile. Makes two survivors from last night,’ Laurel started.
‘And maybe one more guy,’ I carried on, ‘when we were there last, we figured there might have been someone hiding from us. If Sachs and those two women are being held there against their will, the Deserters would need someone to keep them in line while they’re out scavenging supplies. But Sachs was asking people to come to GCR the first time we heard his broadcast,’ I said, shaking my head.
‘Could be they gave him a beat-down for that, somewhere you didn’t see the bruises. Or…hostages.’ Anita suggested, ‘Leverage, bargaining chips, hero points, maybe even a last vestige of civic duty. The Deserters round up survivors, and use them to get in good with the CDC. If they’re in contact at all.’
‘Yeah,’ Laurel scoffed, ‘but for all we know they’re keeping the women and tossing the men to the zeds. DJ gets a free pass because he’s the voice bringing people in.’
‘Urgh,’ I grunted. ‘We could think about this all day, but we’re not going to get any answers.’ I stood up, and made for the doorway. ‘I’ll tell the rest. Anita, hope you’re ready for some gunplay.’
‘You want to give diplomacy a chance first?’ she asked, following me down the stairs. I stopped on the last one.
‘Maybe. I tried it with them last time and it didn’t get us anywhere. On the other hand, when the bullets start flying I don’t know if I’ll want to crap my pants and run away, or take out some disproportionate revenge for Laurel’s ear.’
‘Either is a reasonable response, but don’t lose your head while you’re about it.’ She warned, stopping me at the bottom of the stairs, ‘Best to keep your wits about you, whether you’re fighting or flighting.’
‘I didn’t get a shot at these guys last time,’ I sighed, ‘if they’re pulling some bad shit here, I don’t know if I’d forgive myself for not standing up.’
Anita smiled, but it came across hollow. ‘You’ve got a better attitude than some police I know.’
‘This has been a hard day for you, I know.’ I reassured her. ‘If you want to sit this one out, there’s nobody here who’d think less of you. You should be getting bedrest or something.’
‘I’d think less of me. I’m not letting you go in there without backup.’
‘Then let’s do it, before I lose my nerve.’ I nodded.
I gathered the rest of the team in the kitchen to relay the news. The Deserters, or what was left of them, were holed up in GCR, likely only two or three men, but we could be wrong. Still, that was their SUV outside the station, and it’d be no coincidence they drove up this way to patch up their wounded man.
‘Five against three.’ Lucile said. ‘I’ll take those odds, they’re between us and the endzone.’
‘Six,’ Neville corrected, sounding hopeful, ‘Laurel’s got a shot into the building from upstairs, if we can fight them near the right windows.’
‘I want to try talking to these guys first though,’ I told them, ‘If we can talk them down without a fight, then nobody has to get shot.’ – It felt an easier thing to say than “nobody has to die”.
‘Doubt they in a listening mood,’ Damian said, ‘if they know it’s us, might be likely to shoot on sight.’
‘Still. Costs nothing to try.’ Neville said, approvingly. ‘We can always shoot them afterwards.’
‘We got lucky, first time,’ Damian reminded him, ‘caught them out at de co-op. This their place. I back you up,’ he said to me, ‘but are you sure we ready?’
‘I can’t think of anything else we can do,’ I gestured, opening my arms, ‘but if you can, I’ll take suggestions.’
‘I got nothing,’ he said, ‘let you know if something comes up.’
‘We all ready?’ I asked.
‘Weapons checked?’ Anita followed up.
Neville popped out his pistol magazine and eyed it up, Lucile did the same then Damian followed suit with his, one of those we’d taken from the Deserters outside the co-op. He had it stuffed into a pocket in his coat, with the shotgun ready in his hands. Neville and Lucile still had their bats to hand too. Anita, presumably confident her two pistols were loaded and ready, did nothing. I followed her example, trying to mirror her confidence.
At the bottom of the stairs, I called up to Laurel and Morgan. ‘We’re heading in now. Keep us covered, and if it looks like we’re making a speedy getaway, be ready to follow suit. If you hear shots and none of us make it out of the building…’ I hesitated, leaving a flat note of tension in the air, ‘We’re leaving the 4x4 keys on top of the fridge in the kitchen. Get out of here when it’s safe.’
‘Don’t talk shit,’ Laurel scoffed, coming to the top of the stairs, Morgan just behind her, ‘you’re coming back.’
‘If you don’t, I’ll kill you.’ Morgan added, patting the pocket with her gun in.
‘Stay safe guys.’ I said, hoping it wasn’t for the last time.
True to my word, Damian left his car keys on top of the fridge. Everyone ready, I led the way out to the garden, bolt cutters in hand, down the makeshift steps and to the base of the ladder. It was unfolded and side-on to the hedge, not propped against it. The one down the other side was still folded up and just leaning, not ideal for climbing in a hurry.
‘Lucile, ladies first,’ I gestured, ‘Stay low, keep us covered.’
Neville held her bat as she climbed the ladder, Damian and I both with a hand on to steady it. She flipped a leg over, reaching a little for the ladders propped on the other side. This was the risky part, if we were going to be spotted by the zombies at the gate, it’d be now. She cast a look over her shoulder to check, but didn’t say anything.
Carefully, she climbed down the ladders and out of sight. A moment later, the ladders moved, there came a couple clicking and clacking sounds, then the unfolded ladders went into position, side on to the hedge.
‘Damn it,’ she spat, voice low, whispering through the hedge, ‘ground’s too uneven here, liable to fall off and bust something if we had to get up in a hurry. Better off leaving them closed.’
‘We’ll make it work,’ Neville reassured her, just as quiet, leaning towards the hedge slightly. ‘How are we looking?’
She put the ladders back together, slowly, quietly, and propped the back against the hedgerow. ‘All clear, don’t think I’ve been seen.’
‘Me next, I’ll start on the fence.’ I said. Hearing no objections, I started up the ladder, Damian footing it for me again while Neville held the cutters.
The hedge was wide enough to be a reach for Lucile’s legs, but I was taller by a clear foot or maybe more. Still, the angle you had to twist to make the step from one direction to another made it uncomfortable. It felt like the ladder was going to go, but Lucile had it held firm on the other side.
Awkwardly, I made my way down, the supports on the reverse-side of the second latter making it tricky for someone with big feet; I could put less than half of my foot on the steps, but I’d rather have that than attempt an escape up an unsteady ladder and break my leg in front of a crowd of zeds.
Neville passed the cutters back before I went out of sight. Once at the bottom, I kept low, and moved for the fence. The green wire mesh wasn’t particularly thick, but there were many strands - not like a chain link fence with a two inch gap between the squares, these gaps were so narrow you could barely fit a finger through – probably a good anti-undead design choice.
It made getting the cutters through awkward at first; I had to jam them into the mesh vertically and lever open a wide enough gap to snip with, but after I
’d cleared a few snips it got easier, the sharp, heavy blades of the cutters snapping through the fence links without causing much of a ruckus - the sound of a dozen zeds hammering on the gates would hopefully mask my vandalism as background noise.
I snipped maybe two and a half feet across, one and a half feet from the ground. Because of the horizontal wire that ran across the verticals every couple feet, the piece I’d cut out of the fence was still whole - and could have been used as some kind of improvised barbecue grill.
By the time I was done, everyone else was over and waiting. I left the cutters by the fence and got down onto my front, wriggling beneath, from grass onto asphalt, the leather of my jacket saving me from soaking my hoodie on the grass. Once on the other side, Neville and Anita passed me their crowbars, and I got out of the way. We were hidden from the zeds at the gates here, but it still felt too open.
‘Just going to check we’ve got a window around the other side too…’ I whispered, moving off around the back side of the building. I didn’t poke my head out for very long when I got around the opposite side, just enough to check we had an accessible window. Then I made my way back.
‘Alright, we’re good, another window on the other side,’ I hooked a thumb as Damian was struggling through. Anita, already in, kept poking at the back of his coat where it was snagging. ‘You and Damian head around the other side,’ I continued, voice still soft, ‘we’ll get this one. You’ll be spotted by zeds, but they’re not getting through the fence anytime soon.’
‘We’ll thumbs-up around the corner when we’re through,’ Anita muttered, ‘then give it a count of five minutes from entry to leaving your room. Listen at the door. After five, open it,’ She instructed, ‘then we start to clear, quietly. Don’t be jumpy, confirm targets before shooting, the extra second could save lives. We’ll meet at the reception.’
Once Damian was through, I handed them a crowbar, and we split up. I helped Neville to his feet, then he went to work with the other crowbar, prying up the sash window. It was plastic, PVC, but not a new fit, so finding a gap wasn’t too hard. He strained at the crowbar a moment, then started teasing it as Anita had done the door earlier, working it like a pump until finally - snap.