Safe Zone (Book 2): The Descent

by Suzanne Sussex

  “S and T mission to the Dead Zone,” Annie tells him.

  The grin momentarily drops from his face, before he fixes it back in place. “Dead Zone, eh?” he scratches the top of his head. “Well, good luck, young ’un.” He waves over to a boy at the gate, who duly pulls it open.

  Annie navigates the horses and cart through, then pulls to a stop again.

  “Why have we stopped?” I cringe at the tremble in my voice. I’m worried that she’s changed her mind; that she’ll turn around and say it has all been a joke.

  Annie chuckles lightly at my tone, “We need to let the security team go ahead of us. I asked them if we could take the lead up to the inner gate as it’s your first time, but they insisted that they take the lead the rest of the way.”

  I instantly relax. I’ve been so excited I forgot about the security team behind us. They pull up next to us.

  “Ready?” Joe asks Annie.

  “As we’ll ever be,” Annie replies, and then lets out a giggle and smiles over at him. I have never heard Annie laugh like that. She sounds like a teenager. I look at her, then over at Joe, and they’re just looking at each other smiling. Annie is such a powerful and strong leader that I sometimes forget she’s a woman too. She’s been alone since the outbreak, having lost her entire family early on. I would guess that she might be interested in Joe. Judging by the soppy look on his face, the feelings are not one-sided. Hmm, I wonder if I can help with a little matchmaking.

  One of the horses pulling Joe’s cart snorts and shakes its head impatiently, seemingly as keen to get away as I am. Joe breaks his gaze away and shakes his reins. The horses start trotting towards the outer gate.

  Annie holds our horses until Joe’s cart has passed us. The two soldiers in the back of the cart look incredibly uncomfortable as they’re bumped around. Yet they offer me a smile and a wave as they pass. I smile happily and wave back at them.

  When we reach the outer gate, we once again come to a stop. The soldier sitting next to Joe jumps down and talks to the guard at the gatehouse. I’m not close enough to hear what they’re saying, but I can see the guard is making notes on the dirty whiteboard pinned up in the hut. I assume he’s taking our details and checking us out of the zone. Another buzz of excitement runs through me, and I bounce my leg up and down impatiently.

  Annie places one hand on my knee, “Not long now,” she says, smiling.

  I nod with a big grin, but stop fidgeting and wait patiently. I’ve never been out this far before, and I take this opportunity to look around. The fence stretches for miles. I know the zone is big, but until now I’ve never realised just how huge it is. I can’t even see the point where the fence comes back on itself to enclose the zone. Sentry posts are placed every half mile or so, raised off the ground. I’ve always assumed they were tiny, but now I’m so close to them they really are quite spacious.

  Which is fortunate for the people that work here. They work weekly shifts and spend all day and all night in them.

  Sentry duty was the third match on my job suitability assessment. I’d briefly considered choosing it for my apprenticeship. It’s an important role. The sentries are responsible for the safety of the entire zone. I’ve heard that they can see a lot of action from zebs and nozos. But now that I’m here, I’m glad I didn’t. Imagine spending every working day looking outside but never being allowed to leave.

  The gate lets out a loud metallic creak as it opens. I’m too busy staring around to notice that Joe’s guy has got back in their cart, ready to move.

  “Nervous?” Annie asks.

  “Nope,” I grin at her.

  “Ha ha, somehow I didn’t think you would be. Remember, this is your mission. But if I need to intervene, you must listen to me. Okay?”

  “Yep,” I say, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Let’s go then,” Annie is smiling as she gets the horses moving.

  We trundle out of the camp. The gate sentry nods and smiles at us. As soon as we’re through, he pulls the heavy gate closed.

  For the first time in my nineteen years on this planet, I have left our safe zone.

  Chapter Four

  A feeling of unease stayed with Luca throughout the day. The eggs stashed in his bag played on his mind. It didn’t feel right; receiving payment for taking a stale lump of bread to two starving people. It was unjust. It was unfair.

  He pulled the knife repeatedly across the whetstone, inspecting it every so often to check for sharpness. Satisfied, he wiped a cloth gently down the blade to remove the tiny shards of metal, before dropping it into a bowl of water. He repeated this action until the bowl was full. Then he meticulously cleaned, then dried each knife. He put the pile away before beginning on the next batch.

  His job in the armoury was boring, but despite the monotony Luca took great pride in his work, knowing that a blunt knife accidentally given to someone could mean death for them if they encountered a zeb. The downside was that it did allow him a lot of time to think.

  It wasn’t unusual to have no one enter the armoury during the day. He only got visitors when patrols were preparing to go out in the morning or coming back in the late afternoon. No one was allowed to keep their own weapons.

  When patrols returned, they had to bring the equipment straight to Luca, to be checked back in. Any weapons missing had to be reported and countersigned by the patrol leader.

  It hadn’t always been this way. Before Brian became the zone leader, anyone with a role that took them outside the zone could have their own weapons. They could make use of the armoury facilities to clean and maintain them, but it was their responsibility. When Brian took over, he insisted that no weapons were carried around the zone. Infatuated with their new leader and his pragmatic ways, no one had challenged this decision.

  Overnight, Luca’s job had gone from sitting behind a desk, offering help and advice when needed, to a busy role that occupied his day. He preferred it this way. The time no longer dragged so much. Today, however, his thoughts were occupied with the memory of the emaciated prisoners. The sense of unease gradually turned into guilt. By the time he finished, he had made his decision.

  He was going to give them more food.

  With the satchel containing the precious eggs clasped in front of him, Luca ran the few miles home.

  When he walked through the front door, he shouted a greeting to his father and headed straight for the kitchen. Opening the cupboard, he did not have to search for the container filled with flour, as the cupboard was mostly bare. He hesitated as he reached for the oil. Such a precious commodity and they wouldn’t get any more for another month. But the temptation of eating pasta was too overwhelming, so he continued. He poured the flour into a bowl and made a well in the centre and added the eggs and oil, methodically mixing the ingredients together until the dough was formed. After kneading the dough, he let it rest under an old towel.

  While it was resting, he went into the lounge. His father was sitting by the window, staring out, a position he had adopted the day he stopped working, only moving to use the toilet, to eat or to sleep. It infuriated Luca, because it meant it was up to him to clean and cook, even though he worked all day. His father did nothing, just stared into oblivion.

  “Pasta tonight, Dad,” Luca said, adopting a cheery tone that hid his frustration. His father did not reply. “Maybe tomorrow, you could have a little clean round, you know, tidy the place up a bit.”

  His comments were met with silence.

  He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, “It’s not good for you, just sitting here all day.”

  Still nothing.

  Over the years, Robert Ford had withdrawn into himself. He never told Luca what had happened that night in the bedroom with his mother, nor what he had seen in the early days when they were at his grandparents’ house. When they arrived in the zone, Robert was allocated to farming. His job kept him busy, but it was mostly solitary work, little reason to interact with others. Despite living in Zone G for twenty
years, Robert hadn’t made any friends. He had not even left the house since he retired two years ago. In some ways, Luca was glad of this. The underlying tension in the zone was growing by the day, and Luca worried it would boil over into a riot. But Robert remained oblivious to this. He hadn’t even commented when their rations were reduced.

  Sighing again, Luca got to his feet, “I’ll go finish dinner,” he said on his way out of the lounge.

  Back in the kitchen he quickly cut the pasta into long strands, then emptied them into a saucepan. It had rained heavily last night, so they had plenty of water to cook it in.

  While the water came to the boil on top of the wood burner. Luca chopped up a tomato, he plucked a single leaf of basil from the plant on the window sill and sliced it finely. It wouldn’t be the most flavoursome meal, but it would be filling.

  Luca handed a plate of food to his father, who took it without thanks and ate in silence. Used to this behaviour, Luca wolfed his own dinner down, not taking the time to appreciate the first hearty meal he had eaten in weeks. He had more pressing matters at hand.

  He emptied the remaining pasta into a container and tucked it in his satchel. Then he hurried out of the house and headed over to the prison.

  Luca sighed with relief as he surveyed the corridors and found them empty. The two prisoners were only fed once a day, and if caught, he would have had to make up an excuse for being there in the evening.

  He gently knocked on the cell door before pulling it open, “It’s me again,” he whispered.

  No response.

  Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the wind-up torch he always carried in case of emergencies. He wound it up and switched it on. The plate that he had left by the door earlier that day had not moved, but it was now empty.

  “I’ve bought you some more food,” Luca said, “Pasta.”

  He detected a sharp intake of breath from the dark corner where the two were huddled together. Instinctively he lifted the torch and shone it in the direction that noise had come from. The pair recoiled from the harshness of the light.

  “Shit, sorry,” Luca said and redirected the torch to the opposite corner of the room. He knelt down and placed the container of pasta on the floor next to the empty plate.

  “Oh shit,” he said again, “I didn’t bring you anything to eat it with,”

  Still no response from the dark corner.

  Luca nudged the container with his toe, “Er… well here you go,” he said.

  No movement, no acknowledgement and no sound.

  Luca sighed, “Look, you see, the thing is … I kind of need you to eat it now, so that I can take the container with me, otherwise someone might find it, and I’ll get in trouble,” he paused, cursing at how selfish he sounded.

  “Why don’t you just put it on the plate from this morning?” The man spoke for the first time, his voice hoarse from lack of water.

  “Oh … er yeah, okay,” Luca bent down and emptied the container onto the plate. He moved to stand, then bent back down. Picking the plate up, he walked cautiously over to the pair. He placed the plate next to them, then slowly backed away.

  “Why are you doing this?” the female asked.

  “I don’t think the way you are being treated is very fair,” he said, “What you did was wrong, but you are being treated worse than animals.”

  The woman snorted, and Luca waited for a retort, but none came.

  The silence became uncomfortable. The pair made no attempt to take the food from the plate, and despite the darkness, he felt their eyes boring into him. Did they think it was a trick? It made sense, no one had shown them any kindness since they arrived, so it would be natural for them to be suspicious.

  “It’s not poisoned or anything, I just thought you might need something better than stale bread.”

  No response. Luca moved to the opposite corner of the room and picked up the bucket that was being used for a toilet. It was disgusting.

  “I’ll get this changed for you,” he said and left the room.

  Despite only being gone for a few minutes, when he returned, the plate was empty. He placed the empty bucket in the far corner of the room.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow; hopefully it will rain tonight, and I’ll be able to bring more water,” he said.

  “Thank you,” the female whispered from her corner.

  Luca nodded, unseen in the darkness. He left the room and locked the door behind him. He walked back home with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. It felt good to have helped.

  Chapter Five

  The track is well-worn from years of carts rumbling over the area that used to be known as Salisbury Plain. Tall grass mixes with weeds on either side of us, reducing visibility. Anyone could be hiding in the overgrowth and we would never know.

  At first, I looked around constantly, virtually buzzing with excitement. Every now and then I'd catch Annie's eye and grin broadly, pointing wildly at the landscape. She would smile back at me and laugh, as though my enthusiasm was as infectious as the zombie virus.

  I was overwhelmed by the scale. In the zone, you can’t look very far without seeing something, either a building or a farm, but out here there is nothing. Other than trees and overgrown foliage. I have never felt so small or insignificant.

  But after a few miles, the repetitive scenery begins to bore me. I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but miles and miles of barren wasteland was not it.

  We'd probably been on the move for less than an hour when the landscape began to change. In the distance, I could make out the silhouettes of buildings on the horizon.

  As we approach, I can see it’s a small village full of abandoned houses. Nature has taken over and reclaimed them, covering them in ivy and moss so that they now blend, almost seamlessly, into the landscape.

  We navigate our way through the village, still following the same track. The horse’s hooves create a rhythmic beat, clip clop, clip clop, and I feel myself start to drift off.

  After a while, Annie gently nudges me awake. I jump, startled. It takes a few seconds for me to remember where I am.

  “Sorry,” I say, “I dozed off there,”

  “It’s fine, but we’re about to pass a town, so I need you to be alert,” she says, and I don’t detect any frustration or disappointment in her voice.

  I quickly scan the area. We are on, what I can only assume, used to be a road. Rusted shells of cars, stripped of anything useful, rest discarded on either side of us. The buildings here are still identifiable, with less wildlife taking them over, but windows are smashed, and doors hang open. An uneasy sensation trickles through me, and I have a distinct feeling that we are being watched. Shifting in my seat to look behind me, I don't see anything out of the ordinary, and I force myself to relax.

  Ahead of us, two large crows peck at something on the ground. With a squawk, they fly off as the cart gets nearer, leaving their prey behind, the discarded remains of a corpse. It's hard not to stare at it in fascination, the first dead body I have ever seen. Its eyes have been pecked away by the birds, leaving two hollow openings. The body looks reasonably intact, and the exposed arms are tanned.

  “What do you make of that?” Annie asks, watching me staring as we pass the scene.

  “Er, well, it's gross,” I say.

  She throws her head back and laughs, “Other than that, tell me what you have learnt by looking at it.”

  I think for a second, “Okay, so it’s been there long enough for the birds to have found it and started feasting on it. But not too long as the arms still have colour to them,” I look to Annie for affirmation, and she nods and waits for me to continue.

  “Um…” We’ve now passed the body, and I think back to the image burned in my memory. “Oh… it wasn’t a zeb.”

  “How do you know?” Annie asks.

  “It looked like it was killed by having its throat slit. That’s not how you would stop a zeb.”

  Annie smiles, “Very good, so …?”

&
nbsp; I pause for a second, thinking, “So... it was probably a nozo killed by... er... another nozo?”

  “Yes, I would agree, but what does that mean?”

  The body hasn’t been there long, it wasn’t a zeb, and it wasn’t killed by a zeb. Shit.

  “There are nozos around here that aren’t afraid of killing,” I state.

  Annie nods again and smiles, “Good, but you need to think faster than that, like them,” she points at the cart ahead of us.

  I hadn’t noticed that our little convoy had slowed down, the two soldiers in the back of Joe’s cart had crouched on each side. They had each nocked an arrow and swept their bows from side to side, scanning the area to check for threats.

  I reach for my bow that has been resting on my legs and pull an arrow from the quiver. There isn’t enough space at the front of the cart to draw, but I feel better knowing it is to hand.

  We continue to trot along slowly, the morning sunshine casting shadows between the buildings. My imagination goes into overdrive. I think of zebs, and nozos waiting in the darkness ready to attack us when we pass. I twist round in my seat and look over the piles of boxes and bags in the cart.

  My visibility is reduced, but I feel better keeping an eye on our rear, as I figure that is where we are most vulnerable.

  Annie drops our speed and allows space to open up between the two carts. Her years of experience of going out on missions pay off, because within seconds Joe’s cart comes to a sudden halt as one of their horses rears up on its hind legs. It lands back on the ground with a loud thud, knocking the two soldiers off balance.

  We stop behind them, and I jump up, ready to offer my assistance, but Annie pulls me back to my seat.

  “Wait,” she murmurs.

  We watch silently, as Joe jumps down onto the road. I notice that he is holding a knife, but casually down by his side, rather than poised and ready for use. He waits by the side of the cart as two rough looking men approach him. They are filthy, dirt and blood coat their clothing, and they definitely haven't shaved in years. They both carry sticks with pointed ends, makeshift spears. They also hold them casually, as though using them to rest on, rather than the weapons they have been designed as.