It's Grim Up North (Book 1): It's Grim Up North

by Wilkinson, Sean

  Darren sat there passively and obviously in thought. To him, the island was too good to give up on. From our viewpoint the lighthouse and obvious living accommodation looked like a fortress. The island could only be accessed from the small beach and a small jetty. The rest of the perimeter of the island consisted of sheer cliffs. This place was perfect.

  With another one of his devilish grins he announced, ‘I’ve got an idea’.

  As far as ideas go, I must admit it was a good one. Although we’d all be putting ourselves within reach of the dead, my faith in Darren exceeded any thoughts of chickening out. He was fast becoming the leader of our merry little band and I for one was glad of it.

  Nothing seemed to phase or frighten the guy. He was absolutely solid.

  The plan was to circle the island in the boat within view of the deedaz and hopefully get them to follow. This, in effect, would spread them out, making it easier for us to get ashore and dish out some zombie head caving one on one.

  Andy steered north between the Northumbrian coast and Coquet Island, and planned to navigate around it in a clockwise direction. The deedaz followed en masse up along the beach and along the cement jetty that jutted out to sea. Bobby shouted, ‘It’s not working, they’re all coming along the pier thingy. We need them spread out around the island. We need to turn around and go the other way.’

  Again, I looked at Darren. Again with the grin. I glanced back at the pier and it dawned on me exactly what was going to happen.

  The deedaz at the front eventually made it to the end of the pier and stopped. But the slower deedaz behind them frantically tried to push their way to the front of the queue an, in doing so, toppled their brethren into the crashing sea. This practically halved their numbers.

  ‘Turn it round and head for the beach Andy,’ Darren shouted. ‘And give it some gas, we all need to get off and sort out the fuckers that are left, and the boat needs to be partly beached so it doesn’t float away.’

  Andy then told Darren in no uncertain terms that no way was Bobby getting on that island until the deedaz were dealt with.

  ‘Can Bobby drive this boat if it floats back out to sea Andy?’ Darren asked.

  Andy said nothing, knowing that she couldn’t.

  ‘Well put your fucking foot down and beach the fucking boat mate.’

  Andy did as instructed and with an enormous scraping sound the boat landed on the beach and came to a stop. Before Andy had switched off the engine Darren had hopped over the side of the boat and stormed the beach like it was fucking Normandy.

  Now in full-on berserker mode, Darren went to work. The faster deedaz that hadn’t been pushed into the sea had reached the beach and had the pleasure of meeting Darren first.

  In his previous life candidate number one looked to have been a fisherman of some kind, judging by his attire. The large rubber wader pants and hi-vis jacket under a life vest were a dead giveaway.

  It came within reach of Darren and was about to grab him when Darren ducked under the outstretched arms and swung one of his hammers at the deedaz knee. The knee snapped with a horrible crack and the deeda went down in a heap. Not a killing move but definitely immobilised.

  Without stopping Darren literally windmilled into the trailing deedaz that were left and shouted over his shoulder, ‘Carter, mop the fuck up son.’

  I immediately came out of my reverie and realised I was still on the boat. I practically fell over the side and ran through the surf up onto the beach with my bolo and hatchet drawn and commenced the gruesome job of ending the incapacitated deedaz that squirmed in the trail of destruction that Darren had left in his wake. ‘Who the fuck is this guy?’ I asked myself. Again.

  He was like Woody Harrelson’s character, Tallahassee, from Zombieland. On fucking steroids! Not one foot did he put wrong, the hammers in his hands swinging and arcing in a glorious ballet of blood and brains. One would think the spectacle I was viewing had been choreographed and rehearsed. Within a few minutes it was over and Darren walked back toward us, blood dripping from his hammers. Hammers which had absolutely been blessed by Odin himself.

  ‘What the fucking fuck mate,’ I said. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘Just your friendly local farmer,’ he said laughingly. ‘Listen, we’ll talk later, first we need to check this island out and secure those buildings. Andy, anchor the boat and stay with Bobby. We’re going to check the lighthouse.’

  Chapter 25 – The haven

  Darren and I carefully stalked up the path that led up to the lighthouse. In the field next to the buildings was a small group of fifteen or so tents. Well they used to be tents. Each one was flattened, torn to shreds and covered with blood and each one told the tale of what had happened here.

  The people who owned these tents, the same people Conan the Barfuckingbarian had just annihilated, were obviously survivors who’d sheltered here on the island when the apocalypse started. How they’d contracted the virus was at that moment a mystery, but the domino effect that happened after each one had been infected was evident to see. It seems they’d all been sleeping when it happened and most had been attacked while inside their tents. The question was, why hadn’t they sought shelter within the numerous buildings on the island?

  Darren answered that when he went to investigate. ‘They’re all padlocked. Every one of them.’

  He was right. Each padlock sat inside a thick metal box, so trying to lever them open or simply bash them with a hammer was impossible

  ‘This lighthouse must be automated and controlled from somewhere else.’ Darren added.

  ‘Bollocks, how are we going to get in?’ I asked. ‘It’s definitely not safe to sleep outside.’

  Darren took off his backpack and produced a small leather pouch. Inside were thin strips of metal. I watched in awe as he deftly wiggled the metal inside of the padlock of a door of one of three buildings that looked to be cottages of some kind and with a click the padlock fell away from the lock.

  ‘Darren mate, are you fucking kidding me?’

  Darren just laughed, shrugged and opened the door.

  Once upon a time this building had been the home of the lighthouse keeper and by the looks of the decor and furniture was vacated sometime in the eighties. Its lower floor consisted of a large living and dining room with an even larger kitchen at the rear of the property. The upper floor had two large double bedrooms and a family bathroom and had the same god-awful decor as downstairs. The furniture throughout was covered in sheets. It was dry, and once the wood-burning stoves were fired up would be warm too. Where we would get the wood from was another matter. If there was no fuel to be found, some of the furniture would do for now and then a sortie back to the mainland would probably be needed to source some fuel. This was a daunting prospect. Having just arrived at this safe haven the last thing I wanted to think about was going back there.

  As Darren went back down to the beach to collect Andy, Bobby and the provisions from Andy’s shop, I opened the metal lower floor shutters that covered the windows. I’d found the keys to their padlocks on the bench in the kitchen. The keys to the other buildings were nowhere to be found but I was sure inspector gadget would be able to open them if we needed to.

  We decided not to put all our eggs in one basket, and split the food between the house and the boat. It took well over an hour to hump half of the of the food from the boat up to the house and another two to dump the deedaz that Darren destroyed into the sea and pile up all of the wrecked tents into a heap in an area behind the lighthouse. We planned on burning it later that night. We’d also found, in amongst the ruined campsite, some of the meagre provisions the islanders had owned. They were deemed unusable because most of it was covered in the gore of the slaughter that had occurred and the risk of contamination was too great and not worth the risk.

  Amongst the tents we found the body of a deeda. It was in the latter stages of decomposition, bloated and practically green. This dead fuck was obviously the reason the small colony of survivo
rs had been turned. The smelly green bastard must have been washed up onto the island in the night and attacked them while they slept. We wrapped him up in one of the broken tents and decided rather than carrying him back down to the sea we’d Guy Fawkes the fucker, and promptly threw him on the heap.

  Darren reasoned that the night would disguise the smoke coming from the fire and the lighthouse would obscure any light from the flames being seen from the mainland. Advertising our whereabouts to other survivors or deedaz was deemed not a good idea at the present time.

  Securing our new home was now our number one priority.

  Bobby went about storing and inventorying our supplies while Darren and I explored the other buildings.

  The lighthouse and the building adjoining it actually did resemble a fortress. I later learned some of the history of the place from a book I found in one of the cottages.

  The lighthouse was a 72-foot white square sandstone tower with walls more than one metre thick, surrounded by a turreted parapet. The adjoining white turreted building was a mystery to us. The padlock that held the large double doors shut was too corroded from the North Sea for us to enter but at a guess, looked like maybe it was a boat shed of some kind, that was used by the protection society that monitored the local bird population. The lighthouse, however, was accessible and we entered and climbed to the top to view the area.

  Dusk was starting to set in, but from the vantage point we could see what was left of Amble on the mainland with the help of binoculars that we’d found on a desk. Numerous fires had had a disastrous effect on the harbour town, with most of the dead townsfolk standing in and around the ruins. Again, with nothing to stimulate them, they stood in stasis, endlessly waiting for something to bring them out of their trance and begin the hunt.

  When the light was finally waning, Darren and I went back to the cottage to plan our next course of action.

  On entering the cottage we were assaulted by the most tremendous aroma I’d ever experienced. A table had been set for the four of us and as we sat Bobby dished out huge helpings of what looked like corned beef hot pot with large chunks of potatoes and carrots.

  It was the first real meal I’d had for what seemed like a lifetime. I cried. ‘Here he goes again,’ said Darren. ‘He’s a right fucking puff.’ ‘Thanks mate,’ I sniffled.

  After second helpings we all went and sat in the living room.

  ‘Well?’ I said to Darren.

  Chapter 26 – The pirate

  Darren told us his story. And what a story it was. Growing up on a farm had been hard for him and from an early age his father, who was in Greece on holiday when the zombies came, had instilled in him a strong work ethic. Maybe too strong. That and having next to no social life as a teenager drove Darren into the army when he came of age. After two years of excelling in the infantry Darren decided to put himself to the test and signed up for the special air service. Otherwise known as the SAS, it specialises in high-risk covert actions and similar anti-terrorism operations. There are four main troops that make up the SAS.

  Boat troop, specialising in maritime skills.

  Air troop, specialising in free-fall parachute insertion.

  Mobility troop, specialists in using vehicles and experts in desert warfare.

  Mountain troop, specialising in arctic combat and survival.

  Darren, as it turned, out was part of mountain troop, and as well as possessing these skills was trained as a medic.

  When his tour was up he joined R squadron. Its members all ex regular SAS regiment soldiers who committed to reserve service. At thirty-eight he left the service for good and returned home to the farm to help his ageing father with the running of it. That was two years ago, and now here he was on Coquet Island with a father and daughter and a sissy little cry baby who wets his pants every time he’s scared.

  It was getting late so Darren and I went to the lighthouse to burn what was left of the previous residents of the island. Darren produced a small petrol container and went to work dousing the wrecked tents with the fuel, giving the fisherman a double soaking. We stepped back as I struck one of the windproof matches from my survival kit and flicked it onto the mound. With a whoosh and a roar it went up. I stood and stared at the flames as they licked at the tents and fisherman, then turned towards where Darren should have been, but he wasn’t. Shocked and panicked I turned 360 degrees in search of him. Nothing. He’d simply disappeared. WTF? Where was he? Had he been taken down by a deeda we’d missed? I’d surely have heard something if that was the case! My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. Alone again. I’d been lying to myself that I hadn’t missed the company of my fellow man. I knew that having someone there to share this nightmare world with and to have them watch my back was the only way I could possibly endure this living hell. The past day since I met Darren had been the first time since all this happened that I’d had hope. Hope that I could survive this and regain some semblance of a life. Darren had survived because he was fearless, trained and had an unwavering confidence in himself. I’d survived by sheer fucking spawniness and I was sure my luck would run out sooner or later.

  I took a deep breath and was about to shout his name when a hand covered my mouth from behind. I jumped, pulled away, turned and came face to face with a pirate. Yep, you heard me. A fucking pirate, patch and all I cowered and raised my hands and waited for his cutlass to strike me down.

  ‘Calm down mate, it’s me for fuck sake,’ Darren hissed.

  ‘Darren? Why the fucking hell are you dressed like a pirate?’

  ‘It’s only a patch on my eye Carter.’ He replied. ‘I put it on just before you threw the match on the bonfire. It stops the eye that’s covered from losing its night vision from the light of the flames.’

  ‘So where the fuck did you go?’ I asked, trying my hardest not to show any fear in my voice.

  ‘Well, once the fire was lit I went to the front of the light house to see if the fire could be seen. Sorry mate, I should have told you.’

  ‘Yeah, you should have ye sneaky bastard,’ I replied with a nudge of my elbow.

  Darren snorted and we returned to staring at the fire.

  After a couple of moments my heart calmed itself and then Darren started giggling like a schoolgirl.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Fucking pirate!’ and with that we broke down in fits of laughter.

  It’s weird how the world can go to shit but the human being can still retain a sense of humour. Maybe it’s the brain’s way of keeping itself from snapping. After the past month living in this world of utter terror and death, the laughter we shared on that night really lifted my spirits. That and I wasn’t alone again. I was lucky to have bumped into Darren. Very lucky. A total fucking killing machine when he needed to be. I had only known him a few hours and already, I knew, he would have my back and Andy’s and Bobby’s in any situation that arose. So what if it had just been luck that got me this far. I was still alive. That’s all that counts in this new land.

  After around an hour and not long after the giggling had stopped, the fire had burnt down to embers. The majority of the fisherman had been consumed by the fire but not all of it. With a shovel we’d found, we piled all of the embers onto the fisherman’s remains and walked back to the house.

  ‘There wasn’t another boat when we arrived Darren,’ I stated.

  ‘Yeah, I was thinking that too mate,’ he replied. ‘How did they reach the island? The water is far too sketchy to swim across.’

  I had no answer to that. We continued our walk back to the house in silence and deep in thought.

  Chapter 27 – The shopkeeper

  Once back I secured all of the window shutters and barred the front door from the inside in case any floaters happened to visit through the night.

  Bobby boiled up some water in a huge pan and left the room while Darren, Andy and I stripped and scrubbed ourselves clean in the kitchen. The experience of washing with hot water and feeling clean threatened to ti
p me over the edge and start me weeping again. Luckily, I held it back. Crying in a room with two other naked men would probably get me evicted from the island. I definitely needed a chat with myself about keeping my emotions in check. Having the other survivors think that I was a weak link would not be good at all. I absolutely needed to up my game and to start making my own luck.

  While Bobby took her turn to wash, the rest of us went into the living room wrapped in towels to discuss the sleeping arrangements.

  Andy and Bobby took the main bedroom while I would bunk up with Darren in the smaller room.

  Darren put together a rota for lookouts and we drew straws to see who’d get what. I drew the first watch and took my spot on the landing at the window, looking out over the front of the house and down to the jetty. It was decided that Bobby was exempt from this task as she had made the wonderful meal we ate. Also, I didn’t really trust her to stay awake. The past few days of ferrying the provisions to the boat from their shop had noticeably taken its toll on the young lady. That and the constant fear of being eaten alive.

  The night was divided up in to three shifts. Midnight till 2am, then the hardest watch of all, 2am till 4am, then the dawn watch from 4am till 6am. Andy drew the short straw and received the 2am till 4am slot with Darren taking the dawn watch.

  Before everyone turned in for the night Andy told us their story of survival.

  Again, as with me and Darren, Andy had seen the news broadcast on that fateful morning. He’d been up early waiting for the daily newspapers to be delivered. They never came. As soon as the news channels, media and communications systems shut down Andy jumped into action. Bobby and Andy lived in a flat above the business, which was only accessible through the shop or through the large garage/storage room at the back. The rollup garage door that led into the back lane behind the premises was reinforced and had a remote control for opening and closing. The shop front had shutters too, that could be controlled in the same way. So thirty seconds after learning of the upcoming apocalypse Andy and Bobby were as safe as anyone could be on the day humanity died. Andy had invested in solar panels years ago and with the fine weather he had been able to run the whole premises off the grid as soon as the main feed from the utilities supplier had been cut. With food and provisions to last them years they dug in and watched the end of days unfold. Bobby excused herself at this point and went to bed, obviously not wanting to relive the terrible things she had seen.