by Rob Lopez
Filipova glanced back. “We share something in common, then.”
Breht felt his cuts sting. “Nobby’s just full of himself. He’ll mellow now that he’s got a girl.”
“You’re so touchingly innocent,” said Filipova. “No, it’s sweet. But at my age, I’ve earned the right to be cynical. It’s a badge I wear with pride, and I think you’re wrong.”
Breht shrugged. “If you say so.”
“It wasn’t Nobby I was thinking of, anyway, but Zak. Beneath his bluff exterior, I’m starting to think he can be quite manipulative. There’s a strange air of conspiracy here.”
“Cobb thinks there’s a power struggle going on.”
“That’s interesting. Do you think Zak feels threatened by you?”
“Who knows? But Cobb said anyone can be king, and here I am in the king’s toilet. Perhaps Zak thinks it’s a sign. He thinks everything’s a sign.”
Filipova pursed her lips. “Spare us from the superstitious inanities of small men with a god complex.” She softened her gaze as she looked at Breht. “Should I be worried about you?”
“No reason to be.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of person best suited to the cut and thrust of interpersonal politics.”
“No, I can’t be bothered with all that. It’s only petty stuff. I think we’ve got more to worry about than someone whispering their dislike of someone else.”
“Those bruises on your face weren’t caused by whispering.”
Breht dismissed the idea, then wondered whether actually they were. Hadn’t Nobby accused him of calling him thick? Hardly a damning insult, but Breht was certain he’d never said anything of the kind. But what if someone else had?”
“I’d hate to think that things might escalate,” said Filipova. “It might not be fists next time.”
“What? No way. You’re making too much of this. It’s just a disagreement, that’s all. Once they see I’m not interested in playing their games, they’ll quit.”
Even to his own ears, though, he didn’t sound convincing. Nor convinced.
22
“We’ve got ten holes in the town wall we need to plug,” said Zak, “and some are bigger than others.”
They were driving out of the gift shop and across the car park again. The undead who’d been crippled on the last trip dragged themselves towards the Land Rover and Zak drove over their heads.
“Ten?” said Cobb, sitting in the back with Breht.
“That’s right,” replied Zak. “We’ve got the smaller gates, which are only a couple of metres wide, and we’ve got the bigger openings that were made in more recent times. And when I say recent times, I mean the Victorians. They were vandals.”
Zak drove briskly through the town square, turning sharply towards the train station. Smashing through the access gate and onto the tracks, he skidded to a halt on the gravel, engine idling. “Exhibit A,” he said, pointing to the large opening in the wall where the track entered the town.
Breht didn’t think it looked too bad, aesthetically – a neo-classical arch had been built over the opening – but it was certainly a big gap to seal off. Zak’s historical sensibilities were obviously more sensitive than his own.
Zak engaged gear and drove along the track, the hard suspension shaking everyone’s teeth out. Ahead, lay a tunnel.
“And that’s the exit underneath the north wall,” said Zak. “Why they couldn’t have just bypassed the town, I don’t know, but it makes our job harder.”
Flicking on the headlights, he drove into the tunnel. Pale undead faces appeared briefly in the glare before making abrupt contact with the front of the vehicle. Zak used the windscreen washers to clear the splashed blood and gore off the screen.
“We need enough building materials, and tools, to fence off those openings.”
Breht thought it was a crazy idea. Fending off the undead while attempting to construct a fence would be a monumental task. A finger-wagging sign wasn’t going to be enough to prevent them from swarming the work site. Hazardous working area, indeed.
They emerged from the tunnel into a deep cutting that opened out onto a vista of the sea. Rows of static caravans lined the beaches, but what were previously holiday homes had been turned into refugee shelters, and the caravan sites now crawled with undead.
“That’s our other big source of undead, besides Llandudno,” nodded Zak. “Another reason to close the tunnel. If we can stop the town’s undead population from being topped up from outside, then our efforts to cull them might start to have an effect. Right now, every one we kill seems to draw another in to take its place. It’s like osmosis.”
“Yeah, my mum had that,” said Nobby. “Took her ages to get rid of it.”
For a moment, everyone stared at him, and even Zak was distracted enough to swerve off track for a moment, the trailer bouncing over the rails. Cobb bit his knuckle to stifle his laughter.
“What?” said Nobby when he caught the strange looks.
“Nothing at all, Nobby my lad,” said Zak, swinging the vehicle back in line with a big grin. “And don’t let anyone tell you different.”
Nobby remained perplexed.
Zak exited the rail line at a crossing and called in at the fenced compound of a building supplies merchant. Snapping the lock on the gate, he drove the Land Rover inside, jumping out to slam the gate shut in the faces of the zombies who tried to follow them in. Discoloured faces gathered to peer in at the fence as Zak wandered through the piles of timber, concrete and scaffolding poles, pointing to items on his shopping list. “Don’t forget power tools,” he said. “We need cordless hammer drills and angle grinders.”
While the others began loading the trailer, Breht inspected a JCB digger for hire that sat in the corner of the compound. In the site office, he found the keys.
“What’s on your mind?” said Zak, appearing behind him.
It was like being stalked, and Breht wondered if the man was obsessed with following him. “Not sure. I was just wondering if we could use the digger to fill in the gaps quicker, you know?”
Zak eyed him, like he was suddenly seeing Breht in a different light. “Can you operate one of those things?”
“Yes, it’s not that different from a tractor, and I drove one on my grandfather’s farm.”
The digger cab was protected by safety bars. Zak pondered the possibilities. “I like it. Get some cans from the Landy and fill up the tank. We’ll take it with us.” Zak slapped him on the back. “Positive ideas. That’s what I like.”
Breht eyed the safety bars and wondered if he’d spoken too hastily. They weren’t spaced narrowly enough to prevent a zombie pushing a hand through, but when Breht turned to voice his doubts to Zak, he found he’d gone.
Probably better not to voice a negative idea. He cast around for a solution.
By the time they were finished, the undead had formed a great mass outside, putting a strain on the fence as the runners clambered over the shoulders of the more patient zombies. One was already hanging from the barbed wire that ran along the top.
Breht sat in the digger cab, engine running, his radio on. “We’ll let you go first,” said Zak into his earpiece. The others waited in the Land Rover, the trailer piled high. Breht had his rifle cocked and ready by the seat, but in the confined space of the cab, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to use it effectively. He’d wired mesh to the safety bars as extra protection, but Breht didn’t feel any more reassured. Not when he realised he was trapped inside a flimsy cage in a slow moving vehicle.
Should have kept your big mouth shut.
Too late now. Toying with the hydraulic controls, Breht lifted the front bucket and revved the engine, blowing black smoke out of the vertical exhaust. Releasing the clutch, he turned the vehicle until it was pointing directly at the gate, then he put his foot down.
The impact tore the gate off its hinges and impaled it, with undead still clinging to it. Turning sharply onto the road, Breht took off as quickly as t
he digger would let him, his seat suspension bouncing up and down, until the gate fell off the bucket. The digger ran over the mangled remains, squashing bodies. Zak overtook him triumphantly, sounding his horn, then raced on ahead to the crossing.
Someone’s in a good mood.
By the time Breht reached the tunnel, he too was in a good mood. The clanking bucket attracted the undead for miles around, but the Land Rover ploughed through the ones up ahead, leaving a clear path for Breht to follow.
It was also exactly as he remembered when he drove his grandfather’s tractor, and that put a smile on Breht’s face. They were good times on the farm, and Breht had forgotten how lucky he’d been. Cobb was right. Luck was something he’d taken for granted right up till the Simon Cann incident really. It had served him well for a long time and the court case was an isolated blip. Taken in perspective, he had no reason to let it dominate his life now, and Zak’s idea suddenly didn’t sound so crazy after all. Not now he was behind the wheel of something like this.
Once through the tunnel and back in the town, Breht eyed the earth banks on either side of the track. Digging the bucket in, he extracted a chunk of stony soil and dumped it in the tunnel mouth. A zombie runner attached itself to the outside of the cab, teeth gnashing ineffectually on the mesh, and Breht simply ignored it as he scooped out another pile of soil. A few more bucket-loads, and he’d started to fill the tunnel opening.
Further down the track, near the station, Zak’s vehicle stood idling, the others watching as the undead swarmed towards the bright yellow mechanical digger.
“You all right there, son?” radioed Zak.
Breht spun the digger, knocking zombies over. “No problem. Soon have this gap filled.”
Zak chuckled. “I can see that. We’re going to try and block off one of the gates. Stay in touch and don’t get too ambitious. Back soon.”
Breht demolished a wall that held part of the bank up, adding the bricks to the tunnel entrance. Satisfied that he’d done what he could, he turned around and headed to the great arch by the station. There were some abandoned cars in the station car park. Tipping them onto their sides, he pushed them into place under the arch, then buried them in a pile of bricks and gravel. By now he had several zombies clinging to the cab, blocking his view somewhat, but he completed the task, sealing off the gap. Buoyed by his success, he ventured further into the town, looking for another entrance to obstruct.
“Zak to Breht, what’s your status?”
Breht checked the street signs. “On Upper Gate Street now. Where are you?”
“Near the castle. The Landy’s broken down and we’re hoofing it back inside. Getting crowded here. Recommend you get back now. Urgent.”
Breht flipped up a minibus and pushed it along the road, sending out sparks. “Okay, let me just finish up here.”
He shoved the minibus against the narrow medieval gateway, crushing the roof with an eruption of broken glass. There was no soil nearby to pile on top of it, so Breht scooped up a car and balanced it on top of the bus, gunning the engine to compact it against the low arch.
It seemed a shame to quit now, but if the others were on foot, they might need his help. Breht backed up the digger and felt the pressure of the bodies behind him. The street was packed with undead. Turning in the road, he lifted up the bucket and let it drop on their heads, flooding the tarmac with fluids as skulls were cracked open. The zombie on his windscreen went crazy, like it was getting angry at what was being done to its kin, and Breht stared in amazement.
Did these things really have emotions?
He watched as the zombie shook furiously at the mesh. Then the wires holding the mesh gave way.
Alarmed, Breht put his foot down, the bucket dragging along the road, and the zombie punched between the bars, cracking the screen and smearing blood across the glass. Breht veered the digger, trying to throw off the mad creature, and ploughed into a parked car, the bucket’s teeth punching through the sheet metal. The zombie struck again, cracking the screen some more.
Breht lifted the bucket and dragged the stricken car into the air. As the digger proceeded down the street, the car, hanging down at one end, was hauled over other vehicles, pulling at the digger’s steering. The zombie smashed the screen and reached in to grab Breht’s face.
Breht twisted out of the way, and the zombie grasped at his radio microphone, pulling it away and snapping the cable. The digger lurched to one side and Breht felt it tilt over with the weight of the car on the bucket. Too late, he hit the hydraulic lever to drop the bucket.
The bucket landed slantwise on another parked car, increasing the digger’s angle of tilt. Breht fought with the wheel, then felt the zombie’s cold fingers on his throat. The icy touch panicked him. With both hands he grabbed the diseased arm, pulling it off, and the digger, still moving forward, toppled over.
*
“Don’t break my tractor, Mausi.”
“I won’t grandpapa.”
“You know you drive like a crazy boy.”
“I know, grandpapa.”
That was the day before he slid the farm tractor into a ditch, and a young Breht had lain sprawled in the cab, fearful of the consequences and feeling ashamed. The consequences were a lot more serious now as Breht bunched up in the corner, kicking out at the questing hands, but the shame was the same.
Breht took a moment to adjust to the disaster, his brain denying that such a thing had happened. The undead suffered no such shock, and they blocked out the light as they swarmed over the cab, reaching in to grab a piece of warm meat. Breht’s rifle was trapped beneath him. Contorting himself, he lifted it clear, the fetid smell of death filling his nostrils. The door was above his head, but his potential escape route was crowded with grotesque faces.
I’m sorry grandpapa. I’m such a dummkopf.
He still had his revolver. Maybe now was the time. He imagined the zombie crowd drifting off in disappointment after he’d blown his own brains out. It would be his one victory against them.
Wouldn’t be much of a victory, though. And he realised that, if he continued to dwell on it, he’d never get out. Ever.
He wasn’t ready for that. Aiming his rifle at the faces above him, he switched to auto-fire and squeezed the trigger, hosing his bullets across the various targets. Viscera rained down on him as skulls exploded. Kicking the door open and flinging bodies off in the process, he climbed out, emptying his magazine in a wide swathe at the questing zombies near his feet. There was no way he was going to jump down – too many zombies crowding in – but the back-hoe boom was sticking up at the rear of the stricken digger, and he leapt onto it, then onto the roof of a car, caving it in. Leaping from one car to another, he made it to the edge of the mob and jumped down to the pavement in front of a chip shop. His next leap took him through the plate glass.
Sliding across the counter, behind the fryer, he swapped in a new mag and started capping zombies as they staggered in through the broken window. Barely stemming the tide, he dashed into the back room and up the stairs.
Unfortunately, the chip shop owner and his family lived in the flat above the shop, and they’d succumbed to the plague. Retreating back down the stairs, Breht unlocked the rear door and stepped out into a small walled yard that was strewn with cigarette butts. Climbing over first one wall, then the next, he had to turn and shoot dead an energetic zombie who climbed after him. In fact, it looked just like the infuriated zombie who’d punched through the digger windscreen. Breht put three bullets into his pissed-off face, then ducked down.
There were six small yards sandwiched between two terraces, and the roof overhangs left him with just a sliver of sky to look up to. The only way out was to break into another building, but Breht was wary of encountering more residents. Every shot he fired drew more pursuit, and he needed silence for a while.
Anxiously, he listened to the moans and shuffles coming from the chip shop. He drew his sleeve across his sweating face, and was shocked by how much blood he le
ft on the fabric. He thought it was his own, then remembered the gore splashing on his face when he’d gone full-Rambo in the digger.
He’d cut his legs when he’d smashed through the shop glass, and he may have even cut his face too. The potential for infection horrified him. Uncapping his water bottle, he splashed half the contents on his face, then sprinkled disinfectant powder from his first aid kit onto his skin and on the cuts on his legs. He had no idea whether the disinfectant would work against the protozoa – he imagined Filipova cheerfully telling him it wouldn’t – but it made him feel better.
He pulled the radio unit out from its pouch near his shoulder. The amber indicator light showed it was still working – though low on battery power – but with the microphone and headset ripped off, he couldn’t talk to anyone with it. He pressed the PTT button on it. Hopefully, the others might pick up the transmitted silence and know he was still alive.
What would happen then, however, he wasn’t sure.
23
His narrow slice of sky got darker and darker and the indicator light on his radio grew dimmer and dimmer. Nobody was coming for him – that much was clear.
Had the Land Rover really broken down, or had he been deliberately abandoned?
Dark thoughts, and he recalled the warnings of both Filipova and Cobb, but now wasn’t the time for that. Night was falling and he needed to move.
Thus far, in the silence, he hadn’t dared to move, lest he attract unwanted attention. Nor was he willing to lift his head above the wall in case zombies were in the next yard.
He didn’t know what kind of shop his own yard belonged to, and his only clues were some soggy cardboard boxes and a wicker chair. Dragging himself over to the boxes, he peered closely at a peeling postage label.
Sam’s Antiquities.
The shop was dark, and he couldn’t see much through the door glass. He wondered if, like the chip shop family, Sam was at home.
He had to take the risk. Smashing the glass, he reached in to unlock the door and let himself in.