It was Joan, the female prisoner, that had suggested that giving his dad a new purpose in life might bring him round.
Luca had visited the prisoners every day for the last two weeks, once in the morning, his official visit, and again at night with a portion of whatever he had cooked for himself and his father for dinner. Matty was still paying him with food, although it wasn’t always eggs, a few times he had been given loaves of bread. Even with this extra food it still meant that Luca and his father’s portions were slightly smaller, but they had enough to get by.
Gradually the prisoners had begun to talk to him. It started slowly at first. Luca would bring in the evening meal, empty the toilet bucket while they ate, then sit by the door talking. He would tell them about his day and any interesting goings on from around the zone.
At first, they sat silently, not responding, but he carried on anyway. It had felt good to be able to just talk; he didn’t have many friends, and his job was lonely. He didn’t have anyone with whom to share his worries about his Dad. So even though the two prisoners said nothing in return, Luca carried on regardless.
Then six days ago, he had come back from work and found that his Dad was still wearing the same clothes he had been for nearly a week. Luca came into the prisoner’s room, gave them food, changed the bucket, then slumped down by the door.
“I just don’t know what to do with him,” he said, holding his head in his hands, “I’m scared that he’s just given up on life and is just rotting away, it’s hard, you know. Just seeing him like that day after day.”
“Have you considered taking him to work with you?” the female had asked, startling Luca, “Maybe he just needs a purpose.”
Luca tried not to show surprise that she had spoken, he scratched his chin and cocked his head to one side, as though considering the idea. “It can’t hurt to try, I suppose,” he replied cautiously.
The man had spoken next, “In the old days, it wasn’t uncommon for people to become depressed when they retired. Maybe this is what has happened with your Dad?”
“He has always been quite sad since Mum died in the early days of the outbreak, but yeah … I guess at least he had a purpose, at first finding food for us, then his job here.”
“Give it a go,” the woman said.
“Be sure to let us know what he says,” the man added.
“I will do, and thank you,”
The two prisoners fell back into silence, conversation over. Sensing he would get no more from them that night, Luca had left and hurried home, eager to present the idea. His father had still been awake when he got home, so deciding that he was likely to say no at best, or not even respond at worst, Luca decided to manipulate the truth a little.
“Dad, I’m getting really behind at work, there's a lot coming in and going out at the moment, and I can’t keep on top of it.”
His father continued to stare out of the window, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his son was even talking.
“I was wondering, would you be able to come in for a few hours tomorrow and help me?”
Robert turned to him and shrugged, “I don’t know how to do what you do,” he had stated.
Luca’s heart leapt, that wasn’t a no, “It’s easy, I can show you,”
Shrugging again, the older man replied, “Okay, I’ll pop by for a few hours in the morning.”
Luca had not mentioned the idea again that evening, doubtful that his father would show up. But when he awoke in the morning, Robert was up and dressed, waiting in the living room for him.
In silence, they walked to the prison together so that Luca could feed the two captives. He had mentioned his deal with Matty to his father, although he had not told him that he was visiting again in the evening. Knowing that he would be in serious trouble if he were caught, he wanted his Dad to be able to say truthfully that he had not known what he was doing.
At the armoury, he showed Robert how to clean the knives that he had just sharpened. It was a menial job, but the older man did it without complaint. Despite only agreeing to stay for a few hours, he had remained there all day. There was some truth in the ruse that Luca had used to ask his father for help. It was busier than he had ever known it to be.
Weapons were being collected and dropped off with increased frequency.
Over the following days, his father continued to come into work with him, and the two men settled into a routine. Luca had shown his Dad how to run the inventory, and they took it in turns to record the comings and goings. This forced the older man to converse with people. At first, the conversations were short and perfunctory. But as the days went by, and he became more familiar with the regulars, he became much more talkative.
Luca had shared the success with the two captives, who seemed genuinely pleased that their suggestion had helped. They had become much more relaxed around him. Finally introducing themselves as Stan and Joan, Nozos from the closest town to the zone. Luca never asked them why they had committed the crimes they had and they did not volunteer any answers. Instead, they talked about life before the outbreak; of Stan’s job as a drug rehabilitation counsellor. Joan had only been around the same age as Luca when the outbreak happened, so her memories of the times before were limited. She had also lost her mother in the early days. Her father died of a suspected heart attack a few years ago.
They told Luca only that they had met not long after the beginning of the outbreak and lived in the same nozo community, not of anything that had happened there.
Luca found it hard to reconcile the two captives with the crimes that they had confessed to. They seemed so nice, so normal. At times he wondered if they were trying to gain his trust, if they thought he was gullible and might be manipulated into helping them escape. Luca might be bending the rules by giving them extra food, but he was loyal to his zone and would never agree to that. So he was friendly, was grateful for their advice in respect of his father, but he remained wary of their motivations.
Today he was particularly happy. One of the regular patrollers had returned two hammers and two knives to the armoury. It had been Robert’s turn to check in the weapons. He had left him to it and carried on sharpening the knife he was working on. When he had finished, he was surprised to hear a loud belly laugh coming from his father. It was the first time he had heard him laugh in years. The sound was like music to his ears.
After work, the two men walked home in companionable silence. As usual, Luca made dinner, but tonight Robert helped chop the vegetables. Whatever happened and whatever their motivation. Luca would be forever grateful to Stan and Joan for their advice.
After they had eaten he rushed over to the prison, keen to tell them about the laughter from his father today. He unlocked the door and burst into the room.
“Guess what?” he exclaimed.
There was no response from the two captives. Luca dug the torch out of his bag and switched it on. He shined it in the corner that the two usually sat in. It was empty. He swung it left to right, then behind him. Had they decided to try and overpower him tonight?
No. The room was empty. The toilet bucket was missing and the plate that he had left that morning was gone.
Chapter Nine
Annie turns to me and raises a single eyebrow. Joe just keeps smiling, until I begin to think that his face doesn't know how to hold any other expression. Nevertheless, I am encouraged enough to explain my idea.
When I’m finished, Annie’s smile matches Joe's, “I believe that might just work,” she turns to Joe, “What do you think?”
“Won’t be easy …” he observes, the smile thinning as he rubs at his temple in concentration, “but … I think you might be onto something, Sammie.”
“Great,” I reply, “Simon, Andy, Tom are you clear on what you need to do?” They nod.
“Okay, weapons out, let’s do this,” I say, in what I hope is an encouraging and upbeat tone.
Tom and Andy take up their positions by the fence, while Joe, Annie and I slowly back away
and hide behind one of the carts. Simon stands with his back to the zebs, and when he sees we are hidden, he turns briefly and says something to Andy.
Andy pushes his knife through one of the gaps between the metal wire and gently taps the fence. The impact of metal on metal sends out a soft ringing tone.
The zebs nearest to him groan excitedly, spittle dribbling from their cracked and dry lips. As soon as the first one is close enough, Andy stabs it in the eye. It drops instantly. More arrive at the fence, their groans getting louder at the feast so close to them. Andy and Tom stab at the abominations until the pile in front of them is blocking the other zebs from getting close enough. They move to the right, and Andy taps the fence once more. Nearly all of the zebs in the car park are focused on them and heading in their direction.
“Now,” I hiss. The three of us run, half crouched to a spot near the rusty gate, I keep watch, as Joe cuts a hole through the metal barrier using bolt cutters.
“It’s ready,” he whispers, pulling the wire back for Annie to crawl through. She’s on the other side in seconds. “Sammie,” I take my turn, without the same finesse Annie just displayed, snagging my top on a ragged strand of the metal wire. Joe quickly releases me and Annie pulls me to my feet.
When Joe is through he carefully rolls the wire back over, concealing the hole. I watch him quizzically, “Isn’t that our way out?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Yes, but we don’t want the zebs to get out if anything goes wrong,” he answers.
I nod, because it makes sense. Something occurs to me, and I quickly search around for a few small pebbles. When I have enough, I arrange them in a circle in front of the hole. This time it’s Joe who’s watching me in confusion.
“So, we can easily find our way out … you know, if things go wrong,” I wink at him, and he grins.
We move closer to the distracted horde. Andy and Tom must have taken nearly forty of them out. Bodies lie by the fence like a grotesque, blood-soaked pathway leading up to the still living undead. A quick count shows we probably have another seventy to go.
When we are close enough to almost guarantee accuracy, but far enough away to almost guarantee safety, we take up our position. Spread evenly apart, we nock an arrow and take aim.
“Go,” I whisper, as one we release the arrows. Within seconds three zebs drop, “Again,” I add, but don’t need to as Annie and Joe already have another arrow nocked. They have released before I have even managed to get my next one out of the quiver.
Damn, they are fast. I swallow the temptation to rush, to keep up with their body count. Reminding myself it's better to have fewer shots that hit their targets than more shots that miss. In silence, we repeat the action until it becomes automatic, mechanical even. Nock, pull, release, repeat. The dumb fucks don’t even realise they are being attacked from behind which makes our task so much easier.
I reach behind me into my quiver, and my hand just grasps at empty air. I have no arrows left. A quick glance at Annie and Joe tells me they have already run out too.
“Hand to hand then?” I say. I make it sound like a question, but we all know it's not. If we stop now, we'd have wasted a whole load of arrows for nothing. Without a word, we drop the bows and quivers to the ground and draw our knives. Creeping up on the thirty or so zebs remaining we fan out, keeping a metre or so distance between us. I look to Joe standing closest to me, then to Annie on the other side of Joe, and give a little nod.
Instantly the three of us leap into action, each aiming at the zeb closest to us. Almost in perfect synchronicity, we plunge our knives into their heads, then push the bodies aside before they drop in our path.
We repeat this action a few more times each, taking advantage of the distraction provided by Andy and Tom. But our luck runs out as one of the zebs turns towards us. As though a silent message passes between them, one by one they turn and lunge at the fresh meat before them.
In the background I can hear Andy and Tom, frantically banging their knives against the fence, but they are ignored. It is as thought the zebs realise that there is no barrier between them and us, that we are easier targets.
I don’t count, but there must be around twenty of the dirty hell beasts left. Twenty of them, three of us. The odds aren’t great. Yet still, I don’t feel fear. We have this. Without speaking, we fan out further, each hoping to draw a few zebs in our direction. It will be easier to fight a smaller number each than the three of us trying to fight a crowd of twenty.
Six zebs make their way towards me, a quick glance tells me that Annie and Joe have more heading in their direction. Conserving my energy, I let them get closer before I dive in and take the closest one out. I jump back and continue to walk backwards to let the next one get closer. Keeping the same tactic, I quickly take four of mine out, leaving just two to kill.
These two are next to each other as they approach, both maintaining the steady stumble towards me. I dart around behind them and stab the first one in the back of the head before the next one manages to turn.
Then a shrill shriek sounds to my right. Instinctively I turn in the direction of the noise. Annie is on the floor, two zebs on top of her. Ice runs through my veins, and I pause for a second too long. My last zeb grabs me and pulls me towards its mouth. Off balance, I stumble into it and knock us both off our feet. It’s head smashes back against the hard concrete, buying me time to roll free from its grasp. Still on my knees, I push my knife into its ear. It goes still.
Leaping to my feet, I sprint past Joe to get to Annie. Joe still has three zebs on him and is in no position to help her. Annie is struggling on the floor. Her knife lies discarded just inches out of her reach. She is pressing her feet into the stomach of the zeb immediately on top, her hands push at its shoulders. The other zeb is on top of the first one, flailing around like a fish out of water. It tries to reach around its undead brother, but it is too far away to get any purchase.
It is evident that Annie’s strength is failing. Her arms are visibly shaking from the continued exertion on her muscles.
I speed up and launch myself at the two zebs. Using my shoulder to force them from her. It works, and they tumble off. Annie does not give into her weakened state and is immediately back up on her feet. Together we stab at one zeb each, killing them both.
“Thanks,” Annie pants.
“Are you okay?” I ask, scrupulously checking her for bites.
She follows my gaze and looks down her body, “I’m fine, no bites.”
“Are you two finished mucking around?” Joe says from behind me, causing me to jump.
Annie laughs and swats at him, “Took your time.”
“I had more than you,” he winks.
“Rubbish,” the two of them smile at each other. I shrug and walk back towards the fence where Andy and Tom stand. Even from this distance, I can see they are worried. I pick up my pace to a jog and soon reach the fence.
“She’s fine,” I tell them before they ask.
“Good, you had me worried there for a minute,” Tom smiles, and the exhaustion is written across his face. But their job is not over yet.
“Looks like you have company,” I tell him and point behind them to Simon, who is shooting arrows at the twenty or so zebs coming up the road, “Do you want help?”
“Nah, we got this,” Andy calls over his shoulder as he and Tim jog over to join Simon.
I turn and survey the scene around me, and can see over a hundred corpses lie rotting in the immediate area. Looking behind me, Annie and Joe haven’t moved and are speaking quietly together. Joe has his hand resting casually on her shoulder, she is smiling up at him as he speaks. Perhaps I won’t need to try my hand at matchmaking, the two of them look like they are doing just fine on their own.
Sighing, I leave them to their intimate flirtation and begin the grim job of collecting the arrows from the fallen bodies. It is disgusting, some of the arrows come out smoothly, but most need a bit more persuasion. Putting my foot on the head and giving
a good yank seems to do the job. I’m on the last arrow when Joe and Annie come to join me. They’ve collected our bows and quivers, and Joe surveys the pile of collected arrows, still coated in blood and brain matter.
“Help yourself,” I tell him, then watch as he gathers them all up in his arms and moves over to a patch of thick weeds.
He wipes the arrow heads against the coarse greenery.
“There,” he proclaims proudly, “good as new,” he waves one of the arrows at Annie, who giggles back at him.
Rolling my eyes, I head over to join him, and soon all of the arrows are clean enough to put back in the quivers.
Andy, Simon and Tom have killed all of their zebs, and Joe shouts over to them to guard the horses and carts as we go inside. He launches the bows and quivers over the fence for the other men to collect and put back in the carts.
“If we encounter any zebs inside, it will be hand to hand combat,” he tells me, even though I didn’t ask.
“If we get inside, that is,” Annie adds.
My heart sinks, the thought that the door might be locked hadn’t occurred to me. This entire trip can’t have been for nothing.
I watch with bated breath as Joe pushes at the door. It swings open with only a slight creak. I let out a sigh of relief as we step inside to a large reception area. In better times the room must have been quite impressive, crisp white walls offset the smart black leather chairs. It would have given the room a clinical feel if it were not for the layers of dust that coated every surface.
Helpful signage points us in the direction we want to go, “Production and Stock”, for example. However, another sign piques my interest, “Research and Development.”
“I thought this was just a factory,” Annie says, “I didn’t realise they did drug development here too.”
Joe frowns, “Me neither, although I did think the reception was a bit posh for a factory.”
Safe Zone (Book 2): The Descent Page 8