Surviving the Fall: How England Died

by Stephen Cross

  The handcuffs were biting into Sarah’s wrists, especially given the rough nature of the ride so far. She was glad when the jeep left the fields and turned onto a road.

  Crowe accelerated and they raced along the thin country lanes.

  Abdul leaned close to Sarah. “I’m not sure I have a good feeling about this.”

  “I agree. But what can we do?”

  Abdul shook his head and leaned away.

  Sarah knew what it was like to deal with bureaucracy and people who followed rules. Difficult at the best of times, and impossible at others. This, she felt, was one of the impossible times.

  The jeep pulled sharply around a corner, the back skidding out a little.

  “Take it easy, Crowe,” said Dutton from the front of the jeep.

  “I don’t want to be out on these roads too long,” said Crowe, accelerating out of another corner. Sarah was pulled from left to right as Crowe sped along the roads.

  Sarah leaned forward to be better heard by the soldiers. She decided to aim her questions to Dutton - he seemed the most amiable.

  “I have a husband and a young daughter. In London.”

  Dutton glanced back at her, not seeming to want to take his eyes off the road. “Ok, I think you should probably ask the officer in charge at holding about them.”

  “Do you not have a phone that works? Surely the army have communications.”

  The engine revved loudly as Crowe accelerated onto a straight section of road.

  “What?” shouted Dutton.

  “Bloody mouthpiece,” said Sarah, “Can you not take this mouthpiece off, I feel like some sort of animal!”

  “You know I can’t do that,” said Dutton.

  Sarah closed her eyes and counted slowly. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Look, I just need someone to try and contact my husband. I can give you his name, email address, phone number, Skype address, anything. I just need to-”

  Crowe turned to face her, “Look, don’t you fucking get it? There is no comms. Do you think you’re the only person with fucking kids? Now shut up.”

  “Crowe!” shouted Dutton.

  There was only a millisecond before the crash, but it was enough for Sarah to see the stationary red van sitting on the wrong side of the road, tight round the bend. The next sensation she had was one of motion, incredible motion, like a fairground ride without the restraints.

  A sharp pain on her head.

  Squashed against the large soft body of Abdul, but her arm at strange angle, then pushed against something hard and cold.

  Noise all around her, sounded like a racetrack, revving engine.

  Bone jarring motion, incredible pain in her lower back.

  Head thrown forward and back, neck strained.

  Silence.

  Darkness.

  Chapter 12

  Sarah opened her eyes.

  She was lying on her right side. The taste of blood was in her mouth.

  Then the pain hit.

  Pain from everywhere. Her cheeks felt torn, she guessed the mouthpiece had cut through her flesh. Most of her muscles ached, but especially her left arm. It felt turned through an unnatural angle, pain throbbing in her shoulder like a sledgehammer.

  She knew panic was coming, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. A low guttural cry built in her chest and erupted through her mouth. She wasn’t able to help herself. She tried to move, to struggle. She was still in the jeep, against something soft.

  Ahead she saw foliage, dirt, branches.

  A still body hanging from a seat belt.

  The jeep was lying on its right side.

  “Stop moving,” shouted a disembodied voice. She frantically moved her eyes to look for the voice - her head wouldn’t move. “Stop bloody moving.”

  “I can’t move,” she managed to say.

  “Good. I’m going to try and get you out.”

  She recognised the voice. It was Crowe.

  There was groan from her right side, through the soft warmth she was lying on.

  “Abdul?”

  “Yes… I’m here.”

  “Everyone stay still,” said Crowe again.

  “Are you ok?” said Abdul.

  “I think so, but I hurt everywhere,” said Sarah.

  “David? Can you hear me David?” said Abdul.

  There was no response.

  If Crowe was outside, it meant that the body hanging off the seat belt in front of her was Dutton.

  A wrenching metallic sound vibrated through the jeep. Sunlight beamed in where the door had been.

  Sarah turned her head slowly to the left, fighting the pain and stiffness. She was rewarded with a vision of a deep blue sky, cloudless.

  Crowe’s head appeared in the gap left by the door.

  “Ok, I need to get you both out of here,” said Crowe.

  “Both?” said Sarah.

  “You and Abdul.”

  “What about David?” said Abdul.

  “He’s dead, so is Dutton.”

  “What? David,” Sarah shouted, turning her head again. She couldn’t see beyond Abdul’s large frame.

  Abdul let out a strange moan, “Have I killed him? Is it me?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Crowe. “He was thrown out about 30 feet back. Skewered on a broken branch.”

  “My god,” said Sarah, “No!” She had only know the man for a few hours, but he had been a part of her life that, although short, would be indelibly inked on her mind forever. Survival from the dark. The three of them, small sources of light that had emerged from the tunnel.

  And now one of those lights had gone out. Extinguished. Snuffed out in a second of a carelessness.

  Sarah was suddenly angry. “What the hell is wrong with you? You killed him! Your stupid fucking driving killed him!”

  “We don’t have time for this,” said Crowe. “Trust me, we really don’t have time for this. Just count yourself lucky I wasn’t skewered too when I was thrown out.”

  Sarah grimaced. He was right. No one could help her now, except Crowe.

  Crowe looked to his right for a moment, then back down to Sarah. “Listen carefully, I have to get you both out of here.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for help? You have called for help haven’t you?” said Sarah.

  “Like I said, we don’t have time. Now shut up. I’ve got to work out how to do this.”

  He disappeared.

  “Hey, hey!” shouted Sarah, but there was no answer.

  “It’s ok, he’ll be back,” said Abdul.

  Sarah tried to push herself up towards the doorway of the overturned Jeep. It was impossible with her hands cuffed behind her back.

  “Save your strength,” said Abdul. “We will need it once we get out of here.”

  “We can’t just lie here,” she said.

  “He’ll be back.”

  Sarah closed her eyes. Images of her daughter flashed before her. She pushed them away.

  A noise from the top of the jeep. Crowe was back.

  “Ok, I found the keys for your handcuffs.” He leaned down through the door and reached in behind Sarah. He moved her arms to get at the cuffs.

  “Christ!” she called out involuntarily as pain shot up her arms.

  “Ok, done,” said Crowe.

  Sarah moved her right arm out from behind her, grimacing every inch of the way. She looked at her hand and forearm, both heavily bruised.

  “What about the other one?” said Crowe.

  “I can’t,” said Sarah.

  “You have to.”

  “I can’t,” she shouted this time.

  “Fucking hell,” Crowe reached down and grabbed her arm, and pulled.

  Sarah yelled in pain as Crowe pulled her up out of the vehicle by both her arms. She swore and kicked with her feet.

  Crowe let out a shout of exertion and pulled her up and out of the vehicle. He was standing on the side of the jeep, which was now the top. He laid Sarah down next to the open door.r />
  “That fucking hurt,” she spat through gritted teeth.

  He undid the muzzle. “Don’t sweat it. Look.”

  Sarah looked to where he was pointing.

  The jeep had come to rest on the side of a field after ploughing through a hedge. About fifteen feet from the jeep a thick crop of tall wheat began. At the far end of the field, deep amongst the wheat, Sarah focused on what at first was only a blur of movement. Then the blur became figures, then the figures became twisted, shuffling, deformed beings. Their moans carried across the still county air, mixing with the birdsong and cricket sound to make a strange and despairing country melody of doom.

  Hundreds of them.

  She pulled of her muzzle and winced hard at a sharp pain in her cheek.

  “Suck up the pain love,” said Crowe. “Things will hurt a lot more if we don’t get out of here soon.”

  “What’s going on?” said Abdul, blind to the advancing zombie army.

  Sarah pushed herself up on her aching arms. Fear, in the form of adrenalin was pulsing through her veins. It was amazing what fear could do, how the human body could mask pain. Her left arm hung useless by her side, but her right moved painfully with persuasion.

  “Let’s get big man out,” said Crowe. “Got a feeling he won’t be as easy as you.” He leaned over the door of the jeep, “Hey, big man, can you move?”

  “My side hurts,” said Abdul, “but I think I can move, if you can get me upright.”

  “That’s the fucking magic ticket though, isn’t it,” said Crowe under his breath.

  “How will we move him?” said Sarah.

  “We can’t. He’ll have to move himself.” Crowe jumped off the jeep. He went to the back of the vehicle and, taking his handgun from his belt, smashed the back window with the butt of the gun.

  The group of zombies moved with the same steady pace towards the jeep wreck. Maddeningly slow, but with a controlled certainty, as if they knew they could take their time. Moan and step, moan and step.

  We’ll get there.

  We’ll get them.

  Crowe rustled in the back of the jeep and threw out a rope, a first aid kit, and a petrol can.

  He crawled back onto the top of the jeep with the rope. He put it down next to him and lowered the top half of his body down through the door.

  “You need to lean forward big man,” said Crowe. “Got to get to your hands.”

  Abdul shuffled and moved, huffing and puffing as he did so. He managed to push himself forward revealing a few inches of space that allowed Crowe to reach the restraints.

  Crowe quickly undid the restraints.

  “Ok, pass me the rope,” he shouted up to Sarah.

  Sarah got the rope and passed one end down to Crowe. The mob of undead were now worryingly close - how long did they have left, two minutes, one?

  Crowe began to tie the rope around Abdul’s wrists. “I’m gonna pull you up, then you’re going to have to push yourself out. You manage that?”

  Abdul nodded, sweating. His eyes were wide open in fear.

  The moans of the zombies now filled the air, like a telegraph of fear. The sound infected everything, Sarah felt it right into her soul, like they were speaking to her, speaking to her very life force.

  They would be on them before Abdul was out..

  The petrol can.

  “Crowe, do you have a lighter?”

  “What?” said Crowe emerging from the jeep, rope in hand.

  “A lighter, do you have a lighter?”

  Crowe frowned, but didn’t ask any more questions. He quickly took a zippo from his pocket and threw it to Sarah.

  She jumped down from the jeep and grabbed the petrol can with her good hand. She limped to the edge of the wheat crop.

  Moving as fast as she could, she poured petrol onto the ground, tracing out a semi circle with the jeep at the centre.

  Sarah stood back from her semi circle and lit the zippo. She closed her eyes, prayed, opened her eyes again and threw the zippo forward.

  The petrol caught light with a whoosh.

  Within seconds the fire traced Sarah’s semi circle. Within a few more seconds the field behind caught light. The flames raced back across the dry crop with speed throwing thick black smoke into the sky. The fire soon caught the zombies.

  The groans increased in intensity. They certainly felt the heat. But they didn’t stop.

  “Good work,” said Crowe, panting on top of the jeep, straining with the rope.

  “Have you got Abdul?” said Sarah.

  Crowe gave no answer but leaned down to grab Abdul’s emerging hand.

  Although engulfed in flames the zombies continued to march through the field, the same speed, the same target, like metronomes. Only twenty feet or so away.

  Abdul now had a grip on the side of the jeep and was pulling himself up out of the vehicle. Crowe jumped onto the ground and pulled with the rope.

  A zombie stepped through the semi circle, flames roaring over its charred body.

  It slowed. There was a popping sound and the zombie’s head exploded, sending charred flaming chunks flying through the air. Sarah gagged at the smell, like a game meat barbecue.

  Another flaming zombie appeared. This one did not stop.

  Sarah looked around for a weapon, but saw nothing except the petrol can. She picked it up, lifting it with her good arm, ready to swing at the zombie.

  She jumped at a loud sound beside her.

  Crowe had shot the zombie.

  Its head exploded. Sarah flinched as splatters of blood hit her face, burning. She let out a small yelp.

  Crowe fired again at the next zombie to enter the semi circle. Then again, and again.

  “You’d better hurry up pal,” he shouted to Abdul, “I’ve only got nine shots left.”

  Abdul answered by throwing his heavy frame off the jeep and landing on the ground with a thump.

  Several zombies appeared at once from the flaming field.

  “Ok, let’s get the fuck out of here,” shouted Crowe, firing at the two nearest zombies.

  Sarah limped after Crowe as fast as she could. Abdul, likewise, hobbled beside her.

  “You ok?” she said.

  Abdul nodded, not speaking, out of breath.

  They ran onto the road, and kept running. The zombies followed, but quickly fell behind.

  A few minutes down the road and an explosion rattled the air.

  “There goes the jeep,” said Crowe. “That should get us some attention.”

  A billowing tower of black smoke rolled into the air.

  Thirty minutes later and an army jeep pulled up beside them.

  “Crowe, what the hell happened?” It was the tall soldier from before.

  “Fubar sir. I crashed. We lost Dutton and one of the civilians.”

  The tall soldier shook his head. “Get in.”

  Crowe got in the front, Abdul and Sarah in the back.

  Sarah sank into the seat, every muscle aching, every bone crying in pain. Her left arm pulsed in agony.

  Abdul was spread out on the back seat next to her. His clothes where dirty and torn. His face was covered in sweat, dirt and blood.

  “I can’t believe David is gone,” he said.

  “I know,” said Sarah. “I know.” She rested her hand on his.

  She took out her phone and opened her gallery. She scrolled through recent pictures of her, Ian and their daughter.

  Sarah began to cry. An emptiness had taken hold of her, and she had no way to shake it or fill it. The pain she felt in her heart was stronger than any of her physical aches.

  “I’ll never see them again,” she sobbed through her tears.

  She screamed.

  No one said anything, no one stopped her.

  She cried, horrible gasping cries, her body rocked in sorrow.

  She caught the tall soldier’s eyes in the mirror, and she saw an emptiness there, too.

  Abdul squeezed her hand.

  “You’ll be safe in t
he base, ma’am,” said the tall soldier.

  “You not taking them to holding?” said Crowe.

  “You can vouch for them, Crowe? Am I right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. These two are good.”

  “That’s settled.” The tall shoulder looked at Sarah in the rear view mirror again. “We’ll have you in a warm bed tonight, receiving medical attention. You’ll have food, and protection. That’s the most anyone can hope for today. It may be all anyone can hope for, for a while. You understand?”

  Sarah nodded, but she didn’t know if it was enough.

  But it had to be if she ever wanted to see her family again.

  Tower Block of the Dead

  Chapter 1

  A crow circled and drifted towards the window. It landed on the ledge, balancing precariously. Its dark eyes stared at Chris.

  Crows shouldn’t be up this high, thought Chris.

  He sat on a couch by the window, on the nineteenth floor. He could see all the way to Liverpool city centre. Simeon sat on the couch opposite, a thin man with dark hair and dark eyes. Darker than the crow’s, thought Chris.

  A large man sat next to Simeon. He had a game console controller in his hand, and was staring into a 76 inch flat screen that hung on the wall. Chris bet that no-one else in the tower block had a 76 inch screen.

  The crow took off into the blue sky. Chris watched it turn into a speck in the distance.

  “Have a cigarette mate,” said Simeon pointing to the packet of Benson and Hedges on the coffee table.

  Chris shrugged, “I’m trying to give up mate.”

  “Don’t be soft lad. Have a smoke,” Simeon again motioned to the cigarettes.

  Chris picked up the packet and took one out. He lit it with the zippo that sat next to the packet. He inhaled. It felt good. It helped him relax.

  “That’s better,” said Simeon.

  Another large man appeared at the doorway with a cup of coffee. He was older. He had greying hair. He wore a white T-shirt tucked into black jeans. He fixed his eyes on Chris and sipped from his coffee.

  “Why you giving up the smokes?” asked Simeon.

  “Me Nan’s going on about it.”

  Simeon let out a small laugh. “Good that. You hear that fellas? Cares what his Nan thinks. Good woman your Nan.”

  Simeon stood up and walked to the window. He lit his own cigarette. He stood in silence and smoked.