Safe Zone (Book 2): The Descent

by Suzanne Sussex

  Assuming we don’t run into any more trouble, we should be back in Zone E in two days. I have a deep yearning to get home; to see my Mum, and to feel her arms around me as I cry.

  Johanna and Sidney are riding the horses again while the rest of us walk. They had both insisted that we should take turns, but they are so weak, they'll slow us down far more than is safe. It took some convincing, but they eventually relented.

  It didn’t take us long to get out of the forest. We had travelled north to find a safe place to sleep after our escape, so now we are skirting back around Zone G.

  I was so intent on watching out for the people no doubt searching for us, that I forgot to worry about the zebs. We encountered our first one after only an hour or so of travelling. Luca and Red had no experience in taking them out, so Robert and I gave them a crash course, and with each one we came across we showed them different techniques. Johanna and Sidney stayed on the horses, their height giving them a good viewpoint to watch for oncoming danger, while the rest of us were distracted fighting zebs.

  Luca took to combat like a natural. Killing his first zeb by a direct stab to its temple. He flushed with pleasure at the over enthusiastic praise the rest of us heaped on him. Red, however, was not so good. To give him credit, he tried, but he was too clumsy, and Robert had to step into stop him being bitten. Hopefully, we can won’t come across a horde on our travels. I can't imagine Red being much use in a big fight. Actually, he will probably be more of a hindrance than a help and will need help to kill them. I could see he was disappointed in himself, as though he had something to prove, so I reassured him that I would train him when we got back to Zone E.

  After his failure, he walked with his hands in his pockets, and his head held down, as though ashamed. He brightened up when I told him how the first zeb I met had landed on top of me and nearly bitten me. I may have exaggerated a little, but it worked, and he was soon walking with more of a spring to his step.

  We walked through the night, and now the morning sun shines in the sky once again. I look around me at the others. No one is showing any visible signs of fatigue, which is good, because I want to push on for a couple more hours. But it is not my sole decision to make.

  “Does anyone need to rest?” I ask.

  Without exception, they all assure me they can carry on, apparently as equally keen as I am to put as much distance between ourselves and Zone G as possible.

  The buildings that appear on the horizon tell me that we’re probably coming up to a town, the first we’ve seen since we started our trip. I don’t recognise it from my trip here with Annie, but then, we are taking a different route. I’m still confident we are heading in the right direction.

  I decide that once we’re through the town, we’ll find somewhere to rest up for the remainder of the day, and set off again at night. I’ll need to go hunting again, and we’re almost out of water, so finding somewhere to camp in the countryside, preferably by a stream, would be ideal.

  As we near the town I step in front of the horses, we slow our pace and I keep an arrow in my hand ready to nock and shoot if I need to.

  Like all of the towns I’ve seen over the last few weeks, this one is quiet. Paved roads have given way to weeds, which serve to mute the sound of the horses’ hooves as Johanna and Sidney navigate them through the labyrinth of abandoned cars.

  There is one marked difference in this town from the others I have seen. Skeletons. Lots of skeletons.

  Within a year of the outbreak, most of the zones had cleared the neighbouring towns of corpses, gathering them up and burning them, to reduce the risks of deadly diseases spreading. So it’s strange to see one so relatively close to a zone, yet littered with bodies.

  It’s a haunting sight, as if the corpses have somehow been arranged for maximum effect, and I wonder briefly if that is the case. Has someone staged them to encourage wandering travellers like us to move through the town quickly? If so, it works. It is creepy, and without a word to each other, our pace quickens.

  We follow the natural curvature of the road, and as we round a bend, I see something that makes me stop short. I gesture for the others to wait.

  Outside a building is a cart.

  In the back of the cart is a cage.

  In the cage are six or seven people, all of whom have their hands bound and hoods covering their faces. No one is out on the street, but the door to the building closest to the cart is wide open.

  I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see Luca walking up to me. He goes to speak, but I put my finger to my lips and wordlessly point at the cart.

  He stares at it for a second, “Do you think we should help them?” he whispers.

  I hesitate, because we don't know who they are or what they’ve done to end up in that cage. They could be rapists and murders. Or they could be innocent people, desperately in need of our help.

  “Um … I don’t know, I guess it can’t hurt to take a closer look, can it?” I know that I am not inspiring much confidence with my tone. But given the events of the last few days, I can’t bear to see those poor people locked up.

  Telling the others to stay where they are, hidden around the corner. Luca and I head creep over to the cart.

  “Hi,” I say stupidly, I don’t really know what else to say. But it turns out I don’t need to worry about conversation, as the moment I speak, the groans start, and I realise these aren’t people at all. They are zebs. I'm intrigued at why someone has gone to the effort of capturing them and locking them in a cage, instead of just killing them. For want of a better action, I give the bars a little shake, provoking excited moans from the putrid beasts within.

  “Let’s just go,” Luca urges.

  “Okay,” I reluctantly agree. I want to know why they are locked up, but getting back home safely is my top priority. Giving the cage one last look, I turn to go back to the others, but a voice stops us in our tracks.

  “Oi, what are you doing with our zebs?”

  Luca and I exchange a worried glance, then slowly turn to face a rough looking man, wearing a navy blue baseball hat on his head, combat trousers and a long sleeved top. Very similar to the clothes I am wearing.

  I size him up. The hat must be to protect him from the sun. I’ll bet he’s bald under it. The rest of his outfit looks very much like a uniform. There’s a good chance he’s from Zone G. Almost without thinking, I reach for the handle of my knife.

  He clocks my movement, “I don’t think you want to do that,” he says, and I relax my arms and let them drop to the side of me. His attention turns to Luca, “Don’t I know you?” he asks, frowning, “Oi Carl, get yer arse out here. Got a couple of young’uns trying to steal our zebs.”

  “We’re not,” I assure him, “We were just wondering why they were in a cage.”

  Another man appears behind him, “Alright, Luca,” he nods, and my heart sinks until I realise the tone is friendly, “You been drafted into catch zebs, have yer? Can’t say I blame you, working in the armoury must be boring as fuck.”

  “You work in the armoury?” the other man asks, “Well why the fuck was it closed today? Had to go back home and get kitchen knives. The missus is going to be furious.”

  “Er … sorry, new job. Guess the new guy didn’t know what time to open up.” Luca says.

  “What about yer old man? Weren’t he working with you?” Carl asks, “Hope the old bugger’s okay. Not sick or nothing.”

  “He’s fine,” Luca says, and his acting skills are terrible, all the blood has drained from his face, “Anyway, we’d best be off, things to do.”

  “Yeah, see you later, mate,” Carl says and turns to go back in the house. Luca and I both turn and sigh with relief. Despite Luca's appalling acting, the two men don't seem suspicious.

  “Hang on,” the other man says.

  We freeze once more, “If you’re out catching zebs, why were you asking why we were catching them?”

  I glance at Luca, who stands there with his mouth open, frantica
lly trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

  “We’re not,” I say and turn with a reassuring smile, “Didn't you hear? Those two prisoners from Zone E escaped last night, we’re out looking for them,” Sometimes the truth is the best basis for a lie, “Have you seen them?”

  “Nah, all we’ve seen today is zebs. But we’ll keep an eye out for them,”

  “Great, thank you,” I smile at him, “We’ll be on our way then.”

  “Yeah, nice meeting yer,” he says.

  Just as I am about to turn around, curiosity gets the better of me, and I risk everything with my innocent question, “So why are they in a cage?”

  “Nosy, ain’t yer?" he laughs, "Well I can’t say,” he taps the end of his nose and winks, “boss’s secret.”

  “Oh okay, er... bye then,” I give a little wave, and the two of us walk quickly back around the corner. Like a red rag to a bull, the man said the worst thing possible. Now I have to know what is going on.

  I lead the group back in the direction we came from and find another street to walk down, hopefully avoiding Carl and the baseball cap-wearing man. As we walk, I explain what we saw and my desire to find out more.

  The others reluctantly agree. If Brian wants zebs, we need to find out why.

  There’s no point putting all of us in danger, so after some encouragement, Robert, Red, Sidney, and Johanna head out of town to find somewhere on the outskirts to camp for the day. If we don't join them by the next morning, they will head back to Zone E without us.

  When they’ve gone, Luca and I sneak back to the road, to see the two men in the cart, driving it down the street. We hang back until it comes to a stop and the two men hop out and break into a house.

  When they are inside, Luca and I creep into one of the terraced houses opposite, choosing the one with an open door so as not to make any noise breaking in. We sneak into the lounge and peer out from behind the tattered net curtains.

  The pair are in the house for just a few minutes and they return with a zeb. Like the others, its head is encased in a black hood and its wrists secured with cable ties. I watch with interest as Carl retrieves a broom from the side of the cage and shoves back the caged zebs that try to escape when the other man opens the cage to push their new friend inside. I do a quick count. There are now eight zebs inside.

  “What do you think they are collecting them for?” Luca asks me.

  “I don’t know, maybe they are just clearing the streets?”

  “Why not just kill them?”

  I shrug, “I don’t know,” in truth I am worried. My instinct tells me that whatever the motivation for gathering the zebs, it doesn’t bode well for Zone E. I don’t share these concerns with Luca for fear of sounding paranoid.

  When the zeb is secure, the two men move on to the next house. This time they leave empty handed and move on, leaving the cart where it is. I figure they’ll come back to it, so while it remains in our sights, we won’t lose them. We’ll follow them when they move off.

  Follow them. Follow the horse-drawn cart. On foot. Hmm.

  “How are we going to keep up with a horse and cart?” I vocalise my concern.

  “Shit,” Luca says, “I didn’t think about that.”

  We fall silent for a moment, each thinking hard to find a solution. We groan simultaneously as we both come to the same conclusion.

  Luca looks at me, “This is a terrible idea.”

  “I know,” I chew the inside of my cheek wracking my brains for another option, but there is none.

  “They could be going straight back to Zone G.”

  “They could,” I nod.

  “We could get caught.”

  “Yep.”

  “We might …”

  “Luca, if you don’t want to come, go and meet the others and I’ll go alone,” I snap.

  He goes silent, and although I’m sure he won’t leave me by myself, it’s still a relief when he assures me he will come.

  I study the cart. The cage appears to be affixed to the wooden floor, but the cage is smaller than the space available. There’s about a foot gap between the cage and the sides of the cart. Carl and his friend have used that space to store a mixture of things, from weapons, to a broom and some old rags. Our best, and if I’m honest, our only chance is to squeeze ourselves between the cage and the front of the cart. If we cover ourselves up, we should blend in with the rest of the junk.

  I leave Luca to keep watch and go off in search for something to cover ourselves with. I find an old dirty bed sheet that should work. We wait until the two men return to the cart with another zeb, praying that they don’t decide to leave after the next one.

  Eventually, they return and repeat the same process to secure the zeb in the cage. As soon as they are out of sight, we head to the door and watch as they enter another house further up the street.

  We dash across the road to the cart, and I climb in. The zebs sense the close proximity of a fresh meal and become animated. The hoods disorientate them, and they bump into the sides of the cage and each other as they try to reach us. Luca joins me, and I hand him the sheet to cover us with. The only way we can fit is with him lying on top of me, and it’s a bit distracting. He’s just pulling the sheet over us when we hear a hushed cough.

  “I really don’t think you want to do that,” the voice is unfamiliar. It doesn’t sound like either of the men I heard earlier, but I can’t see the source, because Luca is blocking my view.

  “If you want to see your friends again, get out of that cart. Now,” another voice adds.

  Luca looks at me, the fear in his face must be a direct reflection of my own. He pulls himself off me, then reaches out for me to take his hand. He pulls me up, and I come face to face with several men, all carrying makeshift weapons, and all look ready for blood.

  “This way,” one man directs. I hesitate; fight, flee or follow? I look around for an escape route, but my eyes fix on the baseball bat in his hand. The end has been shaven into a sharp point. The blood that stains the wood gives me my answer. We have no choice. Luca takes my hand and together we walk in the direction the man indicated. Towards whatever fate has in store for us now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The arrow flew from the bow, soaring through the air towards its intended target. It was a little unfortunate that not only did it land twenty feet short, it was also three feet wide. The bag of grain, shaped loosely into a body, would not die today.

  Brian groaned and turned his attention to another trainee. Even before she loosed the arrow, he could see that it was going to be another disastrous attempt. He was right. The arrow flew clumsily for about twenty feet before dropping from the air, embedding itself in the tough dry earth.

  The woman ran to collect it, presumably to take another attempt. Shouts of alarm stopped her midway, as others had knocked their arrows to take a shot. Looking around in panic, the woman dropped to the floor, barely managing to avoid an arrow that whizzed just inches above her head.

  One of the instructors turned to Brian and shrugged, and the casual expression of bemusement on his face made Brian see red.

  “Stop,” he instructed loudly.

  The low hum of chapter fell silent as hundreds of pairs of eyes turned towards him.

  “How long have you been training archery?” Brian asked the closest instructor.

  “Started today, sir,” the man replied.

  Brian breathed a sigh of relief, there might still be hope yet, “What have they been learning before today?”

  “Boxing, sir,” the same man replied.

  Brian’s jaw dropped, “Boxing? What good will boxing be? Do you think our enemies will touch gloves and stick to body shots?”

  “Uh …” the instructor shifted uncomfortably, “It er … teaches discipline?” he said, as though he were asking a question.

  Brian shook his head and pursed his lips. He counted to ten in his head, before daring to open his mouth, lest the volcano of anger erupted from him.
“Show me what they’ve learnt.”

  “Certainly,” the man turned to the crowd who were watching the exchange in silence, “Can you pair up and show Mr Crowe your boxing skills, please?”

  Brian watched as the field split into two, some wandering around looking for a partner, others beginning to punch out at the person next to them. He watched in silence as the disorganisation slowly turned to chaos.

  Mismatched pairs threw punches wildly at each other. Many looked as if they were rooted to the spot, not bothering to move. Some just covered their faces to protect themselves from the blows, defending but not attacking.

  A few stood out from the crowd, ducking and weaving, as though by instinct. Laying out their opponents quickly, then standing around idly, waiting around for the next instruction.

  Brian clenched his fists so tightly that his nails left little crescent shaped marks in his palm. He took a deep breath before shouting for everyone to stop.

  Once more the field fell silent. Brian beckoned the instructors over to him. When they had gathered, he stared at them one by one, looking directly into their eyes.

  “Just what have you been teaching them?”

  “Boxing and archery, oh and some general fitness as well,” a female instructor answered enthusiastically.

  “And, how do you think they are getting on?” Brian kept his tone neutral as he directed the question back at the woman.

  “They’re doing great, making real progress,” she beamed at him. At his hard, cold glare, the smile gradually slipped from her face.

  “Great?” he said, “Great? I didn’t see a single arrow hit a target,”

  “They only started today, give them time and they’ll learn,” another instructor interrupted, earning himself a sharp glare from Brian.

  “The boxing is mediocre. No defence, haphazard offence. Absolutely no technique.” The female instructor opened her mouth to respond, but Brian carried on, ignoring the woman, “But that is largely irrelevant. I don’t want a group of boxers. They need to learn how to be scrappy, how to throw punches and how to dodge them, how to pin someone to the ground and break their bones if needed. They need to be moving and agile, not planted to the floor. I don’t want the next Muhammed Ali. I want the next Connor McGregor. People who can handle themselves in a fight where rules don’t apply.” He looked around the group. No one met his eyes, instead focusing on an interesting blade of grass or a spot in the distance.