Safe Zone (Book 2): The Descent

by Suzanne Sussex

  “Stop fucking around, Tone, let’s just get this done.”

  Tony pulled the door open and hastily leapt out of the way. A woman, clad in a tatty pink fluffy dressing gown that had come lose at the waist, fell through the door. A chunk of flesh missing from her exposed breasts had formed into a rotten, disgusting mess. The blood around the wound had congealed, but despite the passing of time, no scab had formed.

  Eager for a human feast, it plunged through the doorway. Eyes firmly fixed on Tony, it tripped on the handle of the hammer that Carl held firmly in its path. As soon as it was grounded, Tony stamped on the back of its head and used his foot to keep the chomping teeth at bay. Without instruction, Carl strapped its wrists tightly together with a cable tie.

  The creature struggled to stand, lacking the cognitive ability to understand why it could not lift its face from the floor. Carl bent down and expertly pulled the hood over its head with practised speed. He secured it in place with the string that he pulled from his pocket, and tied it securely around the neck.

  Confident that the threat had been removed, Tony lifted his foot from the head and gave it one last kick for good measure. He pulled the thing roughly to its feet.

  “Let’s sort these fuckers out and get back,” he said, pushing the creature ahead of him along the dark corridor of the abandoned block of flats. Carl followed, wiping the thin layer of sweat from his forehead, “Lucky find today Tone, all ten zebs from one building.”

  “Yeah, mate,” Tony grinned, exposing his crooked yellow teeth. “We’ll come back again tomorrow. Betcha there are more in the flats upstairs. We might get extra rations all week.”

  Hitting their target of ten captured zebs meant that they would receive a bonus in their rations. Today had been the first day that they had managed to find all ten. The thought of a full stomach after months of being hungry, made both men pick up their pace.

  Outside, Carl held the other zombies back with a large broom, while Tony forced their newest catch into the cage affixed to their cart. Untying the horses from the rusty lamppost they had been tethered to, the men got into the front of the cart and headed out of the town.

  They journeyed through the filthy, debris-strewn streets, over the weeds that had long since invaded and reclaimed the once tarmacked roads.

  Chatting excitedly about the meals that awaited them, neither man spotted the shapes that flitted in the shadows as they passed by rows of terraced houses.

  The inane chatter faltered as they approached their destination, and the familiar sounds of zombie groans rippled through the air.

  “They’re so fucking loud,” Carl moaned. “Proper freaks me out, it does.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Tony agreed.

  “Tone,” Carl paused, considering his next words carefully, “Why do ya think he gets us to catch ‘em?”

  Tony narrowed his eyes and stole a sideward glance at his colleague, “Dunno, maybe he’s thinking of clearing another town so we can extend the zone?”

  Carl nodded, his brow furrowed, “Yeah maybe,” he said, unconvinced by the suggestion.

  Neither man dared give voice to the doubts that had plagued them over the last few weeks. “Why not just kill the zebs?” They had been working together for the last few weeks, and during that time they had got to know each other well. Each man now considered the other a friend. Yet, their position was privileged. Sure, the work they did was dangerous, but the promise of extra rations made the job worthwhile.

  The extra food would stave off the familiar hunger, for both the men and their families. Any concerns they might have about their job were best left unsaid. The trust between them was not absolute.

  As they approached the enclosure, two men stepped out of the large tent that formed the makeshift guardhouse. Tony slowed the horse to a stop and waited for the men to approach the cart.

  “Ten?” one of the men asked gruffly

  “Yep, got them all today," Tony grinned proudly. "Count them if you like.”

  “Nah it’s okay,” the man said. “I trust you. Besides, you know what will happen if you’re lying,” He winked as though his words were a joke, but the underlying threat was clear.

  Tony chuckled accordingly, a fake laugh to hide his understanding of the warning. The man gave him a slip of paper confirming they were due extra rations. He clasped it in his hands protectively as he watched Carl help the other man tether the horse to a stake in the ground.

  “See you tomorrow then,” Tony said to the guards when the animals were secured. Without waiting for a response, Tony and Carl walked quickly away in the direction of their zone, both keen to escape from the deafening, haunting noise created by an enclosure full of thousands of bloodthirsty zombies.

  Chapter One

  The hall is cold. Tiny goosebumps cover my arms. I pull my fleece tighter around me, then rub my numbed hands together. I catch Annie frowning at me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. She gives a curt shake of her head. She did warn me not to fidget, but I can’t help it. It is freezing.

  Annie told me two weeks ago that I would be coming to this meeting. Since then I’ve barely slept, because I’ve been too excited. I know exactly why I am here. Annie did not share my enthusiasm. She warned me council meetings were dull, and that her request might be denied. She also reminded me that the members had voted not to heat the hall for council meetings as it would take too much of our precious fuel to heat. She told me the lack of warm bodies in the vast space made the room a little chilly.

  “A little chilly?” Maybe she doesn’t feel the cold as much. Her mane of long, thick black hair must act as insulation. Especially compared to my short, pixie cut. I shiver again but do my best to stay motionless. I don’t want to risk another of her glacial looks of disapproval. I’m cold enough already.

  I focus my attention back on the meeting. Derek O’Sullivan is droning on with his update. He is Head of Waste Management, and he takes his role very seriously. Too seriously perhaps. Each Head must provide a monthly report on the running and operation of their teams. It is their responsibility to spot issues early, fix them or raise them with the council if a resolution is not possible.

  Derek’s report seems to be going on forever. Just as I think he is about to finish, he begins his grand finale. Puffing out his chest, he tells us about a crime that he discovered last week. An infringement of zone rules. My interest in the meeting picks up as he reminds the council that the rules were meticulously crafted to ensure our ongoing survival. That the guilty party must pay for their actions. I’m intrigued. What could possibly have gone so wrong?

  “Derek, what exactly is the crime?” the chairwoman, Sally, interrupts his prepared speech. Sally is in charge of the council and has the ultimate say in the running of the zone. She also happens to be my aunt. Not by blood, but as Mum's best friend. I’ve known her all my life and she helped raise me when Dad died. Sally took over as zone leader a couple of years ago when the previous leader retired.

  She had been his assistant since she arrived here and even helped write the original zone rules.

  In the early days, the zone was run jointly by civilian and military leadership. But the military soon found themselves caught up in resolving petty issues, so they handed over leadership to the civilian council, although they retained full autonomy for any military activity. Eventually, the number of senior armed forces personnel dwindled, and now they are fully absorbed back into the council under Joe Penhatty, Head of Security.

  “I found a half-eaten apple in the general waste disposal,” Derek declared. He looks around him, trying to meet the eyes of the fellow council members. If he was expecting to see shocked looks and hear gasps of disapproval, he will be disappointed. Most of the members manage to retain an impassive neutral look. A couple drop their heads to hide their smirks. Waste is frowned upon here, and all food waste is supposed to be recycled, either in the composters or in the animal feed. Whoever threw away that apple was in the wrong, but the way Derek was talking, you
would think that they had committed murder.

  Sally raises a single eyebrow, “An apple?” I know that look. Poor Derek.

  “No,” he enthusiastically waggles a finger in the air, completely misreading her intent, “a half-eaten apple,” he corrects.

  “Okay, we will issue a reminder at the next zone meeting in respect of the proper waste management procedures,” Sally says.

  Derek’s eyes widen, “Oh no," he exclaims and shakes his head in disapproval, "the perpetrator must be caught and dealt with accordingly. He waves a piece of paper in Sally’s direction. “I have here a list of one hundred and sixteen suspects. With the council’s permission, I will begin the interrogations straightaway.” He looks expectantly around the room, frowning at the lack of response.

  “No,” Sally states flatly. I am impressed that she is managing to keep a straight face. I can tell she is about to go in for the killing blow if Derek doesn’t shut up. Derek is obviously not as familiar with her as I am.

  “No? Whyever not?” his eyes are now popping from his head as though on stalks. He scratches his bald patch in confusion.

  “Derek,” Sally says firmly, “If you have sufficient time to spend time questioning over one hundred people about an apple, I would suggest that your department has excess resources that may be better placed elsewhere.” Derek opens his mouth to respond, but Sally ignores him and continues, “Furthermore, if you consider that the list you are holding is a good example of paper usage, which as you know, is on the restricted stock list, I might question your suitability for any role in Waste Management, let alone as head of the department.” She glares at him for a moment, “Now, do you have anything else you wish to add?”

  “Er, no, that will be all,” he mumbles, hanging his head.

  “Thank you, Derek,” Sally smiles sweetly at him. The poor man looks completely shell-shocked as he takes his seat.

  “Annie, your update on Salvage and Trade is next on the agenda.”

  My heart skips a beat. It is time. Annie stands gracefully and brushes the non-existent wrinkles out of her clothing.

  “Thank you, Sally,” Annie starts, there is no trace of nerves in her voice, but I know from the creases in her forehead that she is worried. I don't blame her. The news from our team is not of the good variety.

  “S and T are behind target for the third consecutive month. We have not had a trade visit with any of our partner zones in nearly three months. Since Sidney and Johanna went …” she paused, searching for the right word, “er … missing, we do not have sufficient resources to cover the designated salvage areas, let alone to maintain our zone visit schedule.”

  Faint murmurs and a few snickers travelled across the room, earning the entire assembly a stern frown from Sally. Sidney and Johanna’s disappearance was the biggest scandal to hit the zone in years. No one believes that they went missing.

  Johanna was Sidney’s apprentice, and the rumours were that they were having an affair and ran off together. They pretended to go off on a routine zone to zone trade visit, but instead stole the goods and fled north to one of the zones we don’t partner with. The only person who doesn’t believe it is his wife. She has spent weeks going from door to door, begging for someone to help her leave the zone to search with her.

  Her pleas have gone unanswered. Sure, Sidney was old and not very attractive, whereas Johanna was only a few years older than me and very pretty. They were not a good match, but they did spend weeks travelling together. I, like many others figured that they just got a bit closer than they should have been. These things happen.

  Annie continues, “To maintain relations with our partner zones, we need to schedule a zone visit as soon as possible. Plus, the Scouting team informed me that they have located a factory which they believe to contain non-perishable medical equipment.”

  Aunt Lex, another one of my Mum's best friends, speaks up for the first time in the meeting, “We are desperately low on supplies.”

  Sally looks from Annie to Lex and nods, “What is the status of the factory?”

  “Heavy zeb presence, but they are fenced in the grounds. So it is unlikely that it has been looted yet,” Annie replies, “It will also house basic over the counter drugs, although they are unlikely to be of any use by now. However, that will explain why it is protected by fencing.”

  “Nozos?” Sally asks. Nozo is the name we give people that don’t live in any of the zones. I’ve been told that often they can be more dangerous than the zebs.

  “None identified in the immediate area,” Annie answers.

  “Location?” Sally asks.

  “Richmond,” Annie replies and a small gasp rises from the audience.

  Sally's brow furrows as she studies Annie, “The Dead Zone?” she asks, referring to the city that used to be called London, back when it was the country’s capital. It was overrun by zebs in the early days. None of the zones had the manpower to conduct extensive raids, which means there is still a lot of unclaimed goods. Over the last few years, as supplies have dwindled, it has become more common for small teams to raid factories and warehouses on the outskirts. But no one from our zone has ever gone in as far as Richmond.

  Annie nods, “Yes. However, if we keep our raid small and contained we should be able to get in and out quickly.”

  “Any objections?” Sally asks the rest of the council.

  Medical supplies are hard to come by, so the risk is outweighed by the reward. No one would dare to object. Besides it’s the S and T and Security team that put themselves in danger. The hall stays silent as Sally looks from person to person.

  “Approved,” Sally eventually says. “Is there anything else, Annie?”

  I look over at Sally, I try to catch her eye, but she purposefully avoids meeting my gaze. We both know exactly what Annie will say next.

  “Yes," Annie nods, "I propose to expedite the final assessment of the apprenticeship of Sammie Winter.”

  My heart jumps. I knew that was why I was here, but hearing the words said out loud makes it real. I've wanted this for years, to go outside. All I need is a yes from the council, and I will be allowed out of the zone.

  Technically I have left before. We have training areas with mocked up scenarios for apprentices in certain roles, but these areas are completely safe, with no risk of facing any zebs or nozos. Unless you count the mannequins dressed up to look like them.

  If I get accepted to move into the final stage of the assessment, I will be sent out, with Annie, on an actual task. Outside. In the world. I try to maintain a look of indifference, but inside I am bubbling with excitement.

  “Sammie,” Sally looks at me and meets my eyes for the first time. She doesn’t smile or even acknowledge that we know each other. “Please present your case to the council members.”

  I stand up, and I’m instantly hit by a wave of nausea, and my legs have turned to jelly. But I have practised this for days. I can do this.

  I take a deep breath and begin, “S and T was my primary match during the tests. Since signing on as an apprentice, I have learnt a great deal about what is expected of me. I am top of my classes in Knife Skills and Archery. My negotiation tests scored a record ninety-nine percent, and my situational awareness theory is within the top quartile.” I pause and draw breath, “I can say, with the utmost confidence that I am ready for the final assessment.”

  Sally nods, “Yet you have only recently turned nineteen. Apprentices in contact roles do not usually take their final assessment until age twenty.”

  I am ready for this challenge, “I know, the rules are clear and are there for a reason. However, given the current resource issues within S and T, as the most advanced apprentice, it is prudent to waive this rule at this time.” I smile, satisfied with my response.

  Apparently, Sally was also ready for this response, and her lips purse into a thin smile, “Most advanced, hmm, would you mind sharing your Anger Management scores with the council?”

  My heart sinks, and I get the n
agging feeling that Mum might have asked Sally to go hard on me. I know she does not want me to go outside.

  “My latest AM score was fifty-two percent,” I say. I hold eye contact with Sally, refusing to let her know she has beaten me. I hear a few gasps, and some of the council members whisper amongst themselves. It is low, the average score is in the eighties.

  “Thank you, how about your latest SAP results?”

  I clench my hands to make fists. I can feel a tight, angry knot in my stomach. “I failed my last situation awareness practical,” I mutter.

  “Pardon?” Sally asks, “I can’t quite hear you,” Her face remains impassive, but I can tell she knows she has the upper hand. I suddenly find myself sympathising with Derek after his experience earlier.

  “I failed,” I keep my eyes trained on Sally.

  “I see, what caused the failure, may I ask?” Anger surges through me. She knows exactly what happened. We had laughed about it over dinner on the night of the test.

  “I killed a nozo child, which resulted in a fight with a gang of nozos. I thought it was a zeb,” I say. I hear a groan from Annie next to me.

  “You killed a child because you assumed it was a zeb?”

  “Yes, I felt it was a threat. It could have been a danger to the team.”

  “I see,” Sally smiles pleasantly, “I can see how a cardboard cut-out of a child, wearing a pink sun dress, with pigtails could look extremely threatening.” Laughter erupts around me, and I feel my cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “I propose we move to the vote,” Sally says when the laughter finally stops. She knows that she has won. No one is going to vote for me now.

  “May I add something before the vote please?” I ask, clenching my fists behind my back and swallowing down my anger.

  “Please do,” Sally says.

  “The testing we undertake in this zone is fantastic. I absolutely believe it helps prepare us for the roles we face. However, the practical testing for contact roles is somewhat synthetic and contrived. For example, I know that zebs groan, but I have never heard the noise myself. It is simply not possible to replicate in a training environment." I look around and see all eyes on me. I catch some people nodding, seemingly in agreement.