Deadweight | Novella | Thornhurst

by Forster, Paul

  “I’ll go, but I swear to God that I’ll be back in a week no matter what,” Annie stated, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “I’ll come and get you myself in a week.” They embraced, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time. “Get a bag packed, I’ll let them know you’re coming.” John watched her go upstairs before he went back out to soldiers to inform them they’d have another passenger.

  Day Four

  The village had survived another night. A few dead roamed the streets, but the numbers hadn’t increased, and that provided some small comfort to the villagers who dared to look out onto the street. The inhabitants of the houses could see each other, but had no way to communicate or to organise themselves. Each soul individually felt helpless and alone, waiting for help that they’d previously rejected. Almost all regretted not leaving with the army, staying in their village they hadn’t remained free, it imprisoned them in the comfort of their own home.

  Eve was becoming increasingly worried about her sister. She was awake, but very anxious. She had eaten like a horse but failed to be satisfied. Eve knew Claire was close to the end. She looked like their dad before he completely lost his mind. Vacant and pale, any words she spat out were short and desperate, tinged with anger. Eve had yet to figure out what she would do when Claire changed. She had barely mourned the loss of their parents, her little sister was all she had left and she too would be something else soon.

  “Hungry.” The words barely passed Claire’s lips.

  “I know, I’ll heat up more soup.” The power cuts had increased in frequency and length, so it had made sense to use up the contents of the fridge and freezer first. They were already down to tinned food and packets.

  “Meat. Want meat,” Claire quietly announced.

  Eve opened a tin of hot dogs and passed them to Claire, who gleefully forced them down her throat at speed.

  “More. More!” Claire bared her teeth at Eve, another drop of humanity leaving her.

  The barked order irritated Eve. For the first time, she considered putting her sister out of her misery. The anger quickly passed, replaced by guilt of such a thought before she obliged her sister’s request. A tin of spam was opened and cautiously handed over, Claire looked at the cold cooked meat and sniffed at it. Nothing she had eaten had scratched the itch. A tentative bite of the pork confirmed it too wouldn’t satisfy the hunger. Claire looked to Eve, and they both knew what would happen.

  “I think there were some steaks downstairs in the freezer, they should be okay, I’ll get them.” Eve looked around for a weapon and the keys, the large carving knife would do, and she quickly pocketed the keys. “I love you, Claire.” Eve ran across the room to the door and fumbled to get it open.

  Claire rose to her feet and charged her sister, her hunger driving her forward at a pace quicker than either could have anticipated. Eve flung the door open and ran through, slamming it shut just in time as her sister began pounding on the other side screaming. Eve stopped for a second, her back resting on the door as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Her sister was truly gone, she was alone. As the banging continued Eve regained her senses and locked the door, before gingerly walking down the stairs, clutching the knife as if expecting to be attacked any moment.

  The shop was still secure. She regretted moving much of the stock upstairs, but there was enough still on the shelves to keep her going.

  * * *

  Vinny, Tasha and Kristof had been friends since they were in primary school. Vinny was of Italian heritage, Tasha Afro-Caribbean, and Kristof was a tall, blonde Swede, having been brought to London as a two-year-old. Now in their early twenties, Vinny and Tasha had been in a relationship since high school. Kristof had remained their third wheel, but the three were close. Petty criminals, they survived by their own wits and hard work. Had they ever put themselves to honest work, they would no doubt have been a success.

  When the towns and cities descended into hell and the dead began to outnumber the living, they had decided it was time to get out. They had never trusted the authorities and rather than go happily with the soldiers, they had at first hidden. The three friends believed they were more than capable of looking after themselves, looting what they could and filling the back of the car up. They escaped Brixton when it became obvious a city was a dangerous place to be. They picked up a few stragglers on the way, enough to fill two cars and three transit vans of people and goods. As they had swept down towards the coast, they had filled up with food and supplies at every opportunity. The vans had initially been full of new TVs, laptops, and other consumer goods liberated from abandoned stores. Slowly, OLED TVs were tossed in the street, making way for packets of cornflakes and tinned beans. A case of bleach held greater value than the latest smartwatch or mobile phone. The more destruction they saw, the more they realised this. Cigarettes and alcohol were the only luxuries they afforded themselves. Their plan was simple, fill up every square inch of space with supplies and then head out to the middle of nowhere and survive. The fact none of them had ever so much as pitched a tent or built a fire was missed by them all, their confidence outstripping their ability. They hoped Thornhurst would be their last stop.

  The small convoy of cars and vans cruised past the farm without slowing down. It wasn’t their target; they knew there was a bigger score. Vinny was in the lead car with Tasha and Kristof. The black Range Rover Discovery had been abandoned, and they weren’t ones to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kristof was in the front passenger seat, and Vinny was driving. Tasha had taken advantage of the downtime to take a nap in the backseat. The towns closer to London had to be avoided, an ill-fated attempt to venture into Croydon led them to run for their lives as the dead on the streets swarmed their vehicles. They had made it out unscathed, but from that point decided a big town with a big population would be a big problem. A map taken from an abandoned car helped them plot their route to safety via as many small villages as they could find. Along the way, they had picked up several firearms taken from fallen soldiers, police and civilians. MP5 submachine guns and double-barrelled shotguns, even in the hands of the untrained, gave them an advantage against the dead and any living foolish enough to stand up to them.

  Thornhurst was ahead of them and they slowed before coming to a stop at the top of the main road. Kristof and Vinny dismounted, brandishing the automatic weapons they had claimed on their travels.

  “It’s not very big.” Vinny wasn’t impressed with Thornhurst. In the last few days, he had grown tired of small raids for small gains.

  “Fuck off, Vinny. Lots of houses, a pub, a shop and some cafes. We can fill up and we’re done.” Kristof lifted the L85A3 rifle scope to his eye. Its weak magnification was a marginal improvement over his naked eyeball. “There are some feeders walking around, a few dead on the street, not many. Anyone left isn’t a fighter. Easy.” Kristof was confident, they’d met little to no resistance on the villages they’d hit so far, Thornhurst didn’t look any different.

  “Shock and awe.” Vinny smiled, holding up his submachine gun.

  “Fuck yeah.” Kristof held his rifle above his head, signalling the passengers in the vehicles behind. They would go in hot.

  Both men got back in the car.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead, get your shit together.” Vinny smiled at Tasha as she opened her eyes.

  “Are we here already?” Tasha was groggy, but readied her 9mm Glock pistol. She knew her role. Jump out, scream and fire a few shots in the air. She couldn’t hit the side of a bus with the pistol, none of them could, but it would put the fear of god in the living and those with the bigger guns could take care of the dead.

  The convoy drove into the village and started engaging the few feeders that were out in the open, announcing their arrival to those inside the houses. Many a hopeful face looked out expecting to see the army, instead, their faces dropped when they saw civilians, hoodies and miscreants firing from inside their vehicles. These people shouldn’t have guns. The villagers distrusted strangers
and feared the worst of these city dwellers. As the convoy stopped, and the passengers jumped out, those fears were realised.

  Tasha had her game face on as she hopped from the back of the Discovery, firing wildly in the air. Vinny handed her a loudhailer. “We’re not here to help, we’re not here to hurt. We’re here for your shit! Get out and keep those hands in the air, be good and we’ll be gone soon.”

  The raiders waited outside of their vehicles, waiting for the first villager to open up their home and allow them in to take whatever they wanted.

  After a minute without a single door being opened, the group looked amongst themselves until Kristof stepped towards the closest house and banged on the door with the butt of his rifle. “Open the fucking door!” He stood back as he screamed, raising the rifle to his shoulder. He was overly aggressive, but that was the plan. Don’t give them time to think, shock them, scare them, don’t allow them the luxury of options. Give them one option, open the fucking door and submit.

  “There’s no one there. They left.” A woman in her thirties leaned out of a neighbouring window and shouted below, perhaps hoping to diffuse the anger.

  “You, down here now!” Kristof walked to the woman’s front door and waited.

  She opened the door carefully, Kristof grabbed her under the arm and dragged her onto the street, throwing her onto the road. Tasha and Vinny stood over the woman, weapons pointed at her.

  “Everyone out now or I shoot this bitch!” Kristof now had a key to every house in the village, only the most heartless would let this woman die.

  Slowly, doors opened and people peered out, the braver ones daring to walk onto the street. The rest needed a little more encouragement. The raiders were well enough practiced to pick up their roles, either crowd control or clearing the houses of people and supplies. Vinny and Tasha began herding the villagers into the middle of the road. The rest wasted little time collecting supplies from the buildings and loading up the vehicles.

  Eve watched from the back of the store, hoping they would have their fill before they reached her. She saw them as they peered through the glass door, a man and a woman, eagerly trying to see what to expect inside. They tried the door, but Eve had made certain it was locked. A well-placed swing of a cricket bat remedied that problem, and within seconds, they were reaching inside the shattered pane of glass and unbolting the lock. Eve had nowhere to go except back upstairs or the small storeroom. Without time to consider her options more carefully, she ducked down and scampered to the stairs leading to the apartment. Eve gripped her knife and sat down halfway up the stairs. The shop’s latest two customers were not restrained by a lack of funds. They began clearing shelves of food into whatever boxes and bags they could find. They heaved the stolen goods out of the door onto the street, ready for collection by an accomplice.

  For two minutes, Eve sat on the stairs, fearful that they would discover her. She heard the noise of the ransacking stop and she tensed. Several small bangs rang out as they tried to gain entry to the small storeroom.

  “Nothing, just tat, unless you want a DVD or a fucking book. Otherwise, we should check upstairs.” The man didn’t sound too frustrated. The shelves had already been bountiful.

  “I’ll go, can’t see there being more than a box of Shreddies or maybe a few tins of soup. Get the rest of that in the van, but put a couple of bottles of Pinot to one side for us.” The woman was as happy as her partner with their haul. She might chill out upstairs for a few minutes, then claim there was nothing. As he carried a box out of the shop, she entered the door leading to the stairs and froze.

  She saw the girl, late teens, sat on the stairs halfway up but only a few feet away, clutching a knife with tears rolling down her cheeks as she quietly sobbed. The door at the top of the stairs sealed shut, but that noise. It was slow and very deliberate. Something was scratching at the wood on the other side. The woman didn’t have a gun, just a hatchet. Slowly, she withdrew it from her belt. “Who’s upstairs, sweetie?”

  “My sister, she’s not herself,” Eve held her knife firm, ready to defend herself.

  “Few people are these days. Are you okay?” There was a genuine kindness. This woman a few weeks ago worked at a supermarket. She loved dealing with the public and had been rewarded many times for her superb customer service. Today, she did what she needed to do to survive, she didn’t like it. She didn’t like the idea of being eaten alive or starving to death either. “Stay here, I’ll tell them it’s clear. Don’t come outside, and whatever you do, don’t open that door. She’s not your sister anymore.” She smiled as if to say it would be all right, but it wouldn’t be. This woman was stealing everything from the village, condemning it to death.

  “Why are you doing this to us?” Eve asked quietly.

  “We’re just surviving. Worse is coming. Find someone strong and stick with them. Get the hell out of here to the most remote part of this Earth you can, and stay there.” Slowly, she edged out of the door and closed it behind her. She couldn’t take the girl, they’d never allow it.

  There was just one box of stolen supplies left out the front of the store, and she scooped it up as her partner approached. “There’s jack all up there, not even a bloody tin of sweetcorn.”

  All the other raiders began finishing their duties. The village had been a good score, Vinny and Kristof beamed at the full vans and cars. Next stop, the middle of nowhere.

  * * *

  Gary had been trailing the raiders since they had attacked his village several hours ago, just after dawn. Motson Hill was smaller than Thornhurst and didn’t offer the riches the raiders had hoped for. They had taken everything, but not without a fight. Motson Hill only had a handful of people who rejected the authorities’ attempt to rescue them. They moved themselves into the village hall with every morsel of food and drop of water; it was a tight squeeze but made sure they left no one alone or defenceless. They had done the raiders’ work for them and hadn’t even dared fear their fellow man would undertake such a feat.

  As a former soldier who’d spent many years in private security before he retired at sixty-years old, he was well versed in violence, and more than capable of looking after himself. A twist of fate had taken him from the village at the worst time as he tried to round up support from the local farms. He returned to see friends and family laying bloodied on the street just as the raiders convoy departed. His wife, like many, had been on the wrong end of a vicious beating. They had dared to defend themselves and were promptly put back in their place. They would survive, for that day at least. Their injuries painful, but superficial, the armed raiders didn’t see the need to kill any of these unarmed people, they didn’t need to. There was only one gun in the village, and Gary had taken it with him. His World War II era No.4 Mk 1 Lee Enfield rifle was long and cumbersome compared to a modern service rifle, but it’s .303 cartridge hit far and hard. He had only ever used it for leisure and in competition, using far more modern firearms when working, but he was skilled and experienced. Gary knew that his people wouldn’t last a week without supplies, they wouldn’t need to wait for the dead to turn up to finish them off. In barely an instant, he kissed his wife goodbye and promised to return with their food.

  They hadn’t been hard to follow, even when he lost sight of them, the country roads offered very little deviation. They had blown through the single houses and farms that were scattered along the road, hardly worth the time or effort. Gary knew their destination would either be Thornhurst or Nutwood, maybe even both. When they paused outside of Thornhurst, Gary knew what to do. Whilst they were all busy throwing their weight around, Gary had circled around the village, parked up and jogged into position behind an old public toilet at the opposite end of the village. He wasn’t a young man, but he had kept in shape, he’d have been lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying tracking these bastards; hunting them down like the animals they were.

  His prey had moved back towards their vehicles, nearly ready to move out. Thornhurst hadn’t suffered
the same level of violence his people had, but the net result was the same. With most of their supplies stolen, they’d still die. Gary brought the rifle to his shoulder and looked down the iron sights. He was around three hundred metres out, beyond the range of their shotguns and beyond the limit of their skill with other guns. He’d seen pricks like this before. They couldn’t be reasoned with, they had to be stopped.

  * * *

  Vinny paid equal attention to the boxes and bags of supplies as he did the villagers he should have been watching over. Anything good and he’d make a claim to it. He and Tasha had already a nice collection of the better foods and alcohol, Kristof too made sure he wasn’t missing out.

  “We done yet?” Vinny was eager to get away, start their new life, get comfortable and get drunk.

  They didn’t know what was happening when the Range Rover tyre exploded, villagers and raiders alike ducked down to safety. When Vinny’s head blew apart, the screams of panic masked the next shot hitting Tasha’s chest sending her toppling on top of her dead boyfriend.

  Gary was lining up his next shot as his targets shot wildly in every direction. He smiled to himself as he drove a round through the windscreen of a transit van. The blood splatter covered the inside of the windscreen. Gary waited for another target to present itself as the chaos downrange entertained him briefly. These bastards who wish to bring harm to others were being forced a spoonful of their own shitty medicine. It was their turn to be scared.

  The raiders scrambled for cover, still unsure of who was attacking and from where. Kristof stared at his downed friends, their blood and brain matter covering themselves and the road. He desperately surveyed the surrounding area as he saw the puff of smoke as another of his group fell to the ground clutching their stomach, crying in agony. Kristof shouldered his rifle and looked down the sight. Their attacker was an old boy with an antique. Anger coursed through him.