by T. A. Sorsby
By eleven, we had our bags stowed in the Jamesons’ flat, and split up into two groups to tackle the co-op and stashing jobs. I’d be taking Neville and Laurel to the shop, while everyone else stayed behind. All we had to do was load up the 4x4 and dump the groceries by the elevator. They had to find places to hide it.
With boxes from the storeroom, bags from the counter and help from a few trollies, we emptied out the co-op, taking everything that’d last – trolleys full of more dried foods, tinned fruit and produce that’d no longer be called fresh, but might still be worth something for Morgan’s seed collection. The potatoes especially. Some of them were starting to sprout already.
While Neville drove the first load back home, Laurel and I kept at it, bagging packets of jelly sweets, hard candy and liquorice on top of spices and cooking sauces, cordials and soda pop, going from the essential food that’d keep us alive to the non-essentials that’d keep morale up. I wouldn’t be able to stand boiled rice for more than two meals without some jalfrezi or hoi sin sauces.
Basically…we emptied the shelves. The only things we didn’t load into a trolley or bag up were the newspapers and magazines, the contents of the fridges and freezers, and the booze. We had plenty of that back in Castle Towers already, and as Neville’s watch went ever further past twelve o’clock, we were running out of time, so had to join up and assist the others.
Anita’s team had been stashing supplies all over the tower, starting with nestling a trash bag of tins and several three-litre water bottles amongst the recycling, and moving into Stan’s apartment to get creative with his kitchen bin, sofa upholstery and the linen drawers already concealed beneath his bed.
It was a pattern that continued right the way up the building, save for our own apartments – stashing supplies here and there, leaving only one or two tins of our least favoured foods visible in the cupboards every apartment or so, hoping that’d create the illusion this place had already been searched, if anyone were to come through. To help that image along, we left a few apartment doors open, smashed the odd plate, and left odds and ends scattered about from upturned drawers. The hard part came to when it was time to do that to our own places.
‘I’m not hacking into my sofa to hide tinned tuna.’ Neville said to Anita, folding his arms.
‘We’ve got a winning formula here Nev, let’s stick with it.’ Anita pleaded, holding the bag of tins in one hand, a kitchen knife in the other.
‘I ain’t keen on ruining my couch neither,’ Lucile said, giving her a stern look. ‘If looters ain’t been put off by the first twelve floors of jack shit then I’d say they deserve a break.’
‘We have managed to hide almost everything…’ Morgan pointed out to her. ‘Should be enough?’
‘Fine, fine,’ Anita conceded, ‘but don’t come crying to me when we’ve no tinned tuna.’
‘Oh, I won’t…’ I muttered.
With our sofas safe, we stashed the remaining food and drink in the more conventional hiding places – under beds, on top of cabinets, under the sink, behind the towels in the bathroom, while still leaving the odd tin or jar of sauce scattered about the remains of a ransacked kitchen. It was oddly cathartic, tipping my drawers out across the side, making my place look a tip, but I wasn’t looking forward to having to clean it up.
If we ever came back.
*
Fifty One
For what we hoped would be the final time, we pulled on our jackets, strapped on our bags and checked our weapons. Loaded up with the oversized camping bags, we were a little too big to all fit in the elevator at once, so I tapped Morgan and Laurel on the shoulder, got them to wait back up with me.
As soon as the doors closed shut, I let my mouth run.
‘I love her. I always will. But with all this going on, I can’t keep hoping that she’s okay, or that I’ll ever see her again if she is. I’m not just moving on, not like that, I’m not going to forget her, but I have to move on, argh, move past, keep going.’
The words tumbled out, no thought given. They were heavy words to carry, and I needed to share that burden.
Morgan looked down at the carpet, eyes flashing brief anger before her lip twitched down. Laurel reached out, touching my arm.
‘I know what you mean.’ She said, taking a long blink. ‘I know this plague has taken one sister from me, and I can’t bear thinking it’s taken the other.’ Her eyes turned then to Morgan. ‘But I’ll take family anywhere I can get it. She loved you,’ Laurel croaked, eyes flicking between us, ‘both of you. If she’d have been able to come here, she would have. If she had a way of getting you a message, she would have.’
Morgan reached out to touch Laurel’s arm, but Laurel brought us in for a group hug, squeezing the life out of us.
‘Making me cry, you shit.’ She grunted at me. ‘We’re not just going to get over this, I know…but we…’
‘Need to get past it.’ I finished off the thought for her, my voice coming out as rough.
I heard Morgan sniff and felt the tears roll down my cheeks too. I buried my head in Laurel’s shoulder for a moment, trying to regain my composure.
‘We stick together, okay?’ Morgan asked, breaking the hug first. But keeping a hand on our shoulders. ‘No matter what happens. Nobody else gets left behind. We don’t lose anyone else.’
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
We summoned the elevator and boarded in quiet, riding the lift down to some small amount of sniffles and the drying of our eyes. The tears had been brief, so the mirrored panels beside the doors were kind to us, showing we didn’t look like we’d been crying. Not that anyone would have looked at us sideways.
Whatever the next few hours would bring, be that safety, disappointment or another firefight, there was finally a sense of closure. Not for Katy. That’d be a long while coming. But for Greenfield. For the world. We didn’t think things would ever be the same again. There would be no ‘going back to normal’. We had to take care of each other, not just for a few days, but maybe forever. With such good people around me, I could live with that.
On the ground floor, chairs had been tossed about and potted plants knocked over. The doors were open, everyone waiting outside, with Anita writing on the lobby windows in red spray paint, probably from Stan’s apartment.
‘Dead inside.’ I read, joining them in the car park. ‘Think it’ll be enough?’
‘Short of politely asking people not to come in, I think we’ve done all we can to keep our refuge secret.’ Neville said, picking up Damian’s bag from where it lent against his leg. ‘Suppose we could drag a few corpses over for authenticity, but I doubt anyone looking to loot is going to be put off by that.’
‘Yeah, I mean, we aren’t.’ I shrugged. ‘Come a ways since day one.’
We weren’t planning on bailing from the truck in a hurry, and with me and Morgan holding onto the straps in the boot, there’d be help on hand if we needed to grab the bags and run. I’ve been joking about how big Damian’s cargo space is, but seven full sized camping backpacks made an admirable start at filling it up.
We’d at least doubled, if not tripled Anita’s four-month food estimate with our scavenging – it’s scavenging when we do it, and looting when it’s someone else. It felt a shame to leave it all behind, but it wasn’t like we couldn’t get to it again, if we needed to.
As Neville started the engine, the radio tuned into GCR, and finally, Sachs was broadcasting again, even if it was just music, and no announcements. If we didn’t make it out of Greenfield then we’d need to keep building our bridges with those guys. A radio relay would be a valuable tool in a world without mobile phones.
I did the food maths in my head as we drove. It didn’t take long. An optimistic twelve month supply at full rations would stretch to two years if we rationed. That’d be long enough to figure out how to farm, right? Get some seeds from a garden centre, head to the library for some kind of How To Guide. Morgan could figure it out.
For a mi
nute or so, I wanted to turn us around – say it wasn’t worth the risk, meeting the CDC, or whoever else might be out there. Tell people we didn’t need anyone else’s help, that we could make a go of it on our own. Neville and I had talked this morning about setting up our own community.
But there was a safety in numbers that couldn’t be denied, and plenty more risk involved in either isolating ourselves, or advertising our small, well stocked little haven. No, the best course would be to try the CDC, to see what it’s like behind the walls of Sydow.
As comfortable as I’d become with the idea of killing man or zed, I wasn’t crazy, or, heh, dead inside. The idea of safety and protection outweighed all other arguments – and had I not sworn to myself I’d do what was best for these people? Keep them safe? Yeah. Sydow was the place to be. If not, we had our backup plan.
VBC Studios was on the outskirts of the city centre, where the high streets and commercial districts petered out into hotels, flats and warehouse space – but you were still only a ten minute walk from the nightlife.
The zeds had been getting thicker on the ground again, drawn back towards the city centre by something. It was a little disconcerting. I’d figured they’d have spread out into the suburbs by now…but what was our theory? They were going where the food was. Wherever people made their presence known. If they were coming back towards the centre, they were following something. The assembling convoy, I hoped.
We were driving through a residential area a little further out, the last row of old terraces before the dual carriageway that brought traffic into the heart of the city. That’s when we heard the gunfire. Neville pulled us over immediately, off the main road and down a side street, into the terraces.
‘Was that aimed at us?’ Lucile leaned forward, between the front seats.
The gunfire continued, small arms and chattering automatics – like we’d heard last night. Maybe the same people were fighting again.
‘No, we’re out of sight, must be someone else.’ Laurel said.
‘They’re really going at it.’ Neville commentated, like we couldn’t hear it already. He turned in the road, creeping back to the corner we’d come down, but pulled up onto the curb instead, like we were parking.
‘Where do you think it’s coming from?’ I asked from the boot.
‘Knowing our luck, right were we need to be?’ Laurel grimaced. ‘Why can’t things just got smoothly?’
‘It’s quarter past two.’ Neville said, turning over his shoulder. ‘If they’re shipping out in convoy, it’ll be moving soon. Can we afford to wait?’
We didn’t have to.
The gunfire suddenly grew closer, and we fell quiet, listening intently. After a moment, the sound of roaring engines grew louder.
‘Heads down!’ I called out, everyone bar myself ducking out of sight.
In the boot, I figured I was far back enough to remain unseen, as vehicles began to speed down the main road we’d just been on. The first of them was a military Humvee, charcoal grey. The firing position in the roof, the one I’d seen them mount machine guns and rocket launchers to in the movies, just had one soldier with an assault rifle, firing back the way they’d come.
The next vehicle was a civilian sedan, pecked with bullet holes, though the solider hadn’t been shooting at them before they sped out of sight. A pickup truck came next, figures holding onto a bar above the cab, firing pistols at the soldier, or the sedan. It looked as if the convoy was under attack before it’d even finished gathering.
‘Come up, they’re not looking out way.’ I said.
We watched as another Sydow Sec Humvee chased out of sight, probably hoping to catch up with the pickup. A classic green Panther, an old van and a pair of motorcycles went next, with a large truck thundering along behind them – I recognised its fire engine-like profile as the truck we’d seen pouring soldiers to investigate our co-op.
Gunfire chattered from the rear of the truck, and I just caught sight of the soldiers firing there, as the main body of their pursuers caught up to the chase. Gods, what had driven them to this?
A blue people carrier – a real soccer mom’s car – was sporting two gunmen from the sides and another from the bloody sunroof, firing more pistols and a long rifle. I didn’t see if anyone’s shots hit home, but the chase was only in our sight for a moment before it passed along.
The carrier was followed by another couple of motorcyclists on dirtbikes, but these weren’t dressed in full, proper leathers as the others had been. After them were more ordinary looking cars with battle damage, hard to tell then who was in the convoy and who the aggressors were. After a couple of minutes, the gunfire faded and the engine noise died away.
‘Should we follow them?’ Neville asked.
‘Might get shot by either side.’ I warned, ‘Take us to the VBC, quickly! There might be some soldiers there who know what’s going on.’
‘Yeah, can’t hear gunfire anymore,’ Laurel said, ‘maybe the convoy led the shooters off, could still be people there.’
Neville had us back on the road and turning the corner while still gathering speed – guess he didn’t want to be in sight for any longer than necessary. We crossed over the carriageway and into narrower, winding streets, seeing evidence of the battle all around. Some of the parked cars had lost their wing mirrors, or had their windows shot out. Even the walls were scarred with chipped brickwork from stray bullets.
We didn’t bother with the original plan – sneaking up for a vantage point. We slowly drove up into the centre of the intersection, Neville flicking the 4x4’s hazard lights on, and rapidly flashing the headlights.
The building was a square affair over half a dozen stories, with a walled off parking lot, the gates currently opened. Though there was an entrance on the street, it was much like the foyer of castle towers – all glass – so had been covered over with what looked like a mixture of bedsheets, tarps and bin bags, so the zeds couldn’t see in.
When nobody called out to us, we pulled around the side, and up the little incline into the parking lot. It was mostly empty, but had the capacity for twenty or thirty vehicles. Judging by the tents and marquees that’d sprung up in the parking lot, I’d say it might have been at capacity just a few minutes ago.
They’d probably split up, drawing the attackers off in different directions across the city, hoping to meet back up somewhere on the road. That’s what I’d have planned for…but that didn’t do us much good. We were supposed to join up with that convoy. Now it was gone, split up and under attack. Even if we found them, there was a chance they’d shoot us on sight.
‘Think they all scrambled.’ Lucile said, looking out of the window over the shanty camp. ‘Both sides.’
‘Wonder what they was fighting about?’ Damian asked.
‘Could be anything,’ I said, gritting my teeth. ‘But it’s fucked up our plans something fierce, whatever it was.’
Quiet fell, broken only by the soft sounds of the radio, turned down since we heard the gunfire. I hung my head and tried to think of a way we could hook up with the convoy – predict where they’d be on the road maybe? Or maybe…
‘Lucile, Anita, get that gate closed,’ I ordered, crawling to the boot door, ‘Morgan, wait with Damian in the car. Neville, Laurel, we’re going inside.’
‘I reckon they packed all the good stuff with them when they left,’ Laurel said, ‘there’ll be nothing left to take.’
‘Not trying to take anything. Trying to find something. Maps, plans, a post-it note, anything that’ll tell us where they’re going to try joining the convoy back up.’
I got out of the boot and pulled the cobra into hand, eyeing up the overlooking windows for any surprise shooters. People were getting out, but not with the usual speed and enthusiasm I was used to by now.
‘Could be they just scattered Kelly,’ Lucile said, approaching me with an apologetic look. ‘Gone off to secret safehouses Gods know where.’
‘Or they’re all making their own way to
Sydow.’ Neville added, arms folded, ‘might be no catching up to them, but at least we know where they’re going.’
‘Main roads are a rush hour from hell,’ Anita reminded them, coming to stand beside me, ‘if they had a plan to drive out of this city then they knew a road that was open. Finding that information out for ourselves could cost us more than time and fuel.’
‘So we go inside and see if they left instructions.’ I said, firmly, breathing a little too hard perhaps. ‘So come on, let’s move, before somebody comes back and gets the wrong idea.’
‘He’s right, we’ve come too far to turn back when the answer could be in there.’ Morgan said, ‘Even if we can’t find the convoy, just knowing what roads to take would help.’
‘Hey!’ Damian called, from still inside the 4x4. ‘Got to come hear this! Talking about de convoy!’
We ran to the front of the truck, gathering around the doors as Damian turned up the radio. It was Carl Sach’s buttery announcing voice, but with an edge of concern, not its usual jovial tone.
‘…spoke with the acting Commander, who said they spoke with their Director General. Do not go to VBC Studios, the convoy has been forced to scatter – they’re all making their own way to Sydow, but I told them you were on the way. They said they can’t come back for you, but there is something…a long shot. Sydow Sec had a supply train coming down from Kilmister, they’re diverting it to pass through Greenfield but you’ve got to be quick – it was already getting close.’
‘Damn it!’ I cursed at the radio.
‘When? What station?’ Neville gestured wildly.
It was as if Sachs could hear us.
‘You need to get to city station and be at platform eight in less than thirty minutes. They can’t wait for you. If you can’t be there, just get somewhere safe. Either way…hope I’ll be hearing from you guys real soon. Good luck, Deputies.’
*
Fifty Two