“Get in the vehicles and get out of here!” He had to scream at the top of his lungs to be heard over the panicking villagers and raiders. His people took their instruction, and the villagers now sought refuge back in their homes. Kristof saw his chance.
Gary couldn’t secure a target, too many civilians running around obscuring his view of the raiders.
Kristof held his rifle low to obscure it from his target’s view. He had closed a hundred metres on the old fart before he dropped to one knee and brought the rifle to his shoulder and fired off a burst.
Gary ducked behind cover as two of the rounds smashed into the render of the building, a small chip striking him just below the eye. An irritation, but nothing serious. He knew he’d pushed his luck and should have already relocated, but now it was on. He reloaded his rifle, pushing in the individual cartridges until it was full.
Kristof wasn’t sure if he’d landed a round on target, but he had at the very least put the wind up the old man. With a little more caution than he had previously displayed, he climbed to his feet and walked carefully towards Gary’s position, rifle ready for action.
Gary rubbed at his eye and looked for his next move, before running to a tree twenty metres from his shooting position and laying down prone. He waited, hoping inexperience, carelessness and stupidity would make the raiding scum present himself as an easy target.
Kristof was full of adrenaline. He gripped the assault rifle tightly, ready to empty the rest of the magazine into the pensioner who had dared to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. He closed on Gary’s position, but stopped himself short, breathing heavily to psyche himself up.
Gary would have happily waited the rest of the day for the young man to present his head around the corner for a new hole to be created. The creature wasn’t nearly as patient. The gunfire and screams had attracted two of them, recently turned. The twig breaking behind Gary alerted him to the first one’s presence. He stayed still for a second to gage its position, listening for the gentle sound of a foot on the ground, a grunt from the angry beast. He pivoted and put a round in its throat, severing its spinal cord, dropping it to the ground. The second was ten feet further back and Gary quickly cycled the action of the rifle and put a bullet clean through its forehead.
Kristof heard the first shot, and then the second. They weren’t at him, so he took his chance and charged the corner, firing wildly. Gary barely had time to react and put himself back in a position to engage. Kristof had nearly emptied his magazine when he finally saw Gary. A wicked smile spread across his face as he targeted Gary. His marksmanship was poor, but he still landed one of seven shots into Gary’s left shoulder. The pain was immense, but it wasn’t his first gunshot wound. The 5.56mm bullet was a bee sting compared to Gary’s .303. He landed the only shot he needed, and it threw Kristof to the floor, his nose obliterated where the bullet had entered before passing through his brain and out of the back of his head.
Gary climbed to his feet, using his rifle to balance his wound was bleeding, but it shouldn’t kill him. He got to Kristof’s body and gave it a hard kick. “Bloody cowards.” Gary picked up the L85 rifle and checked it over, a quick search of Kristof, he found a further two magazines. He slid them into his pockets before slinging his new toy over his back, only for the pain to remind him of his injury. He shouldered his rifle and edged around the corner. The rest of the raiders were driving off out of Thornhurst, leaving a single bloodied van and the immobilised Range Rover. Gary took care as he walked down the high street. Few villagers had dared to remain outside.
“My name is Gary, I’m from Motson Hill. These thieves attacked us, I’ve just come for what was ours, I’m not here to steal from you.” He had just shot dead a handful of people, was covered in blood and armed with two rifles. His clear, friendly tone was barely reassuring anyone.
Eve peered out from the store. “Are you okay?”
Gary gently touched his wounded shoulder and winced. “Don’t worry about this, it’s just a tickle. Can somebody help me with the van? I just want to take what they stole from us, no more. We can unload the extras for your people and the car too. I need to get back home.” He sounded genuine enough for a few more villagers to come out to help.
Their ordeal had made them cautious, but as soon as Gary handed over a shotgun from one of the dead raiders to a villager, they had some certainty he didn’t intend to murder them where they stood. Together, they dragged bodies to the side of the road, stripping them of weapons and equipment, and began unloading the vehicles. Gary was careful not to take too much from these people. They were weak but kind. They would be best going to one of the camps, maybe this whole incident would remind them of that. Whilst Gary didn’t rate the chances of these rescue camps, at least these people would have a limited chance. Here they’d be dead sooner rather than later.
With the van sorted, Gary readied himself to leave as Eve approached. “More will come, when the military comes back, go with them.”
“One of them said something similar. There isn’t a good outcome, is there?” Eve’s appreciation of the situation became clearer every hour.
Gary shrugged his shoulders, wincing once again as his wounded shoulder reminded him of its presence. “Look after yourselves.” He had nothing left to say, he had no answers, he hadn’t been able to protect his own people when the time had called for it. He drove off slowly as the people of Thornhurst took the remaining supplies back into their homes. Eve stood watching, contemplating her future. She looked to the apartment above the store and her sister stood in the window staring down at all the meals she couldn’t get to.
* * *
Gary felt tired and weary, his wounded shoulder bothered him more than he’d even admit to himself. He passed a farm but opted against reaching out. There had been enough interaction with strangers for the day. He wanted to get home to his family and friends, check they were okay and get the food loaded away. His wife would fret about his gunshot and he’d rest up for a few hours, allow his aching body some rest.
An overturned car blocked his route back, wedged across the road between the two stone walls lining the fields on either side. He briefly toyed with the idea of nudging it gently out of the way with the large transit van, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. For half a mile he carefully reversed back down the road until he reached a small junction and took the other fork. It would be less direct but should get him back only a little later.
The countryside was quiet, the amount of military aircraft had reduced since the previous day. Still, a few choppers could be seen or a jet flying at speed low to the ground, startling the wildlife. Until he saw the camp, he hadn’t seen a single soul. Maybe fifty tents, with a few dozen vehicles loosely circling them like wagons in the Old West. A handful of creatures milled around the camp, searching out the last scraps of meat. This wasn’t an army-run camp, these were civilians. Gary cautiously exited the van with the L85 rifle and used its scope to survey the scene. The few bodies he could see had been picked clean of their flesh. Out of the corner of his eye he could see movement. Like a herd of cows seeing a farmer arrive at feeding time, maybe seventy of these things gave pursuit to a single man maybe half a mile away. The scope wasn’t powerful enough to get a good picture, but these things had locked onto their target, who moved barely faster than them, and looked tired.
Gary considered for a moment helping, but he didn’t. His shoulder was bothering him and needed to be looked at. Besides that, he couldn’t risk losing the supplies for his people. He knew the direction the man was heading, Gary could only hope that they would catch him and give him a quick death before he reached Thornhurst. He got back into the van and decided he wouldn’t look back.
Slowly he drove off, hopeful of seeing his friends and family in Motson Hill soon.
Day Five
Ethan was in his late twenties, a trader in the city, not a particularly good one, but he had made enough money to be the envy of his friends, for all the good it did
him now. He had been sleeping alone in a two-man tent when he was awoken by the screams. Fear had kept him inside, keeping quiet and hoping somebody else would help. For hours, he sat petrified, clutching his simple weapon of a bloodied wooden chair leg, but they weren’t going anywhere. Ethan had voiced his concerns about the injured, those who looked infected, but he was a newcomer to the group, unknown and with no influence. They had made it quite clear to him he was free to leave and try to make it on his own. He opted against that, sure they would see sense before it was too late. They hadn’t.
The healthy survivors hadn’t had it in their hearts to put down their family members when they should have done. And now he was paying the price for their stupidity.
It had been an hour since he heard the last human plead for mercy with one of the unthinking beasts. Ethan suspected a few survivors like him were hiding, but the shuffling in the long grass was from the dead, not the living. He considered his options, and none seemed ideal. His best idea was to make a run for it now, whilst they might still be distracted devouring the remains of their victims. He briefly stretched, took a swig of water and readied his crude bat before he crawled to the entrance.
As quietly and slowly as he could, he unzipped the nylon doors, carefully peering out when the slit was big enough. Several of the feeders circled a car, its occupants unable to drive off, instead kept captive inside. They were on their own. More creatures roamed the field or jostled for position at one of the many corpses as the flesh became in short supply. This was it, Ethan knew what he had to do, and he had to do it now. Carefully unzipping the rest of the tent door, he gave himself a countdown in his head from five. When he reached one, he made a bolt for it.
He looked ahead and saw the handful of monsters; they were his focus; he was desperate to avoid them and didn’t notice the rock on the uneven ground. He had just got up to full speed when he tripped over that damn rock. “Fuck!” He couldn’t help but scream in pain and frustration. Any of the feeders that weren’t already aware of him were now. A hand grabbed him from behind and he screamed only to see a woman in her forties, a fellow survivor, helping him back to his feet. She had seen him make his run for it and joined him. They didn’t say a word to each other as they started shuffling off away from the far bigger group of feeders that had slowly begun to give chase.
Ethan limped heavily. If his foot wasn’t broken, several toes definitely were. Every step sent a bolt of pain up his entire body. The first creature in front of them intercepted and Ethan knocked it to the ground with a firm hit from the chair leg. His companion knocked out the next with a knife blade through its eye. They tried to pick up the pace but Ethan was holding them back, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move any faster. Only a few feeders lay ahead of them, Ethan again swung his bat, this time two strikes required to knock it on its arse. The woman expertly stabbed the next creature in the side of its head before it dropped to the floor. The next wasn’t so easy. The blade entered its target, but the kitchen knife wasn’t designed for killing and snapped as the creature collapsed to the floor dead. She threw the useless handle at their pursuers out of anger rather than hope it would do anything.
The gate at the end of the field was still so far away, and the pursuing mob was nearly upon them. Ethan didn’t have time to say sorry to her, for doing what he had to do in order to survive. He struck the poor woman in the kneecap; the crack confirmed it had done the required damage. She collapsed to the floor in agony, looking up as Ethan continued his escape. She was too shocked to curse him. Desperately, she tried to crawl along the floor but it was futile, they were upon her. Ripping. Tearing. Biting. The briefest of screams and then the noise of a dozen creatures devouring her flesh filled the air.
Ethan didn’t look back for more than a second. It had bought him a few moments, but probably no more. He gave everything he had as he picked up the pace. The ground was unsteady, so was Ethan. He stole a glance back. Several of the creatures were giving chase as the woman continued to be ripped apart. There wasn’t enough for all the feeders, and those not close enough to grab or bite began moving on to their next potential meal.
Ethan got to the gate, swung it open and slipped through. He tried to close it behind him but fumbled as the monsters closed on him and he lost his nerve. Now, a full stream of creatures were heading towards him and he continued. The feeders weren’t the greatest of problem solvers, but an ajar gate wasn’t beyond them. After the first pushed through the narrow opening, the second trying to gain advantage opened it further with their grey limbs flailing for position.
Ethan had no idea where he was, he just knew he had to get away and pray someone would rescue him.
The camp was all but abandoned by the dead, a few still harassed the survivors in the car, but the rest gave a slow pursuit of the equally slow Ethan. Several shocked survivors emerged from their hiding places. The death and destruction around them nearly too much to bear, but to fall on the ground and cry at their losses would only make their demise more likely. Instead, they took out their grief on the few creatures who had remained. The feeders were downed, but the camp was gone. Tears flowed, but they knew it was time to pack up what they could and go. So many were dead, and these few survivors owed it all to one person who was brave enough to lead the horde away.
* * *
Eve had taken refuge in one of the abandoned houses. She couldn’t bear to stay in the village store with her sister haunting the upstairs flat. Once Gary had left, and the food shared out, an older couple handed Eve the spare key to their neighbour’s small terrace cottage. It was nicely presented and untouched thanks to the owner’s wise decision to join the military evacuation. It was one of the few properties the raiders hadn’t bothered to check during their brief assault of Thornhurst. She had made herself a black tea, utilising the AGA cooker. She stood upstairs looking out on the streets, sipping the tea, making sure not to venture too far from her chosen carving knife. It was so peaceful yet so sad.
Ethan had been jogging as fast as he could for nearly an hour, just keeping ahead of his pursuers but unable to shake them. The pain and exhaustion tried to best him, but he wouldn’t allow it to stop him and cause his grisly demise. They stretched out over one hundred metres behind him, as if queuing for their turn at the troth. When the village came into view, he saw hope and found the strength to run a little faster, to marginally improve the gap between him and the hungry mouths.
The streets were clear, a damaged black car sat in the middle of the high street, the dead did as they should and lay heaped together, ready for torching. Desperately, Ethan looked for signs of life among the houses and shops. He didn’t have the time to waste.
“Help me, please help!” he screamed as loud as he could, but it came out as a rough whisper, his lungs still working overtime from his escape. Ethan ran up to a door and banged on it before trying the next. He kept moving, hoping someone would be home, someone would save him.
The first of the horde had entered the village, followed by the next, and then a dozen more chasing down the high street.
Eve had spotted him when he’d entered the village and watched him scramble from door to door whilst trying to decide if he was a threat or should be helped. As the dead flowed behind him, she decided it was unlikely he was there to take from them. He was scared and fleeing for his life.
The first front door carefully opened, an odd-looking man in his early fifties peered out, then stuck his head out to foolishly investigate, just as the creature was in striking distance. He didn’t have the chance to scream as it lunged at him teeth first, landing a successful deadly blow to his throat. The next door down opened and two creatures enjoyed their fresh dining experience. Ethan looked in horror as the feeders tucked in. He was so close to safety and he’d die tired and in pain. He didn’t see the door open or the girl standing in front of him. When Eve reached out and dragged Ethan inside the cottage, he was too exhausted to fight back or scream in fear. He fell onto the floor and
Eve slammed the door shut.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Eve held the knife by her side, ready to flick it towards this man if needed.
Ethan took the opportunity to regain his breath. He coughed as the air filled his lungs. “We had a camp, they got us. They killed everyone.” Ethan sat himself upright, but his aching, damaged body wouldn’t yet allow him back on his feet.
“You led them here.” There was anger and surprise in her voice. How could he be so stupid, so selfish?
“I didn’t know there was a here. I was running for my bloody life.” He was defensive about his actions, he’d already seen they had cost people their lives, but they hadn’t cost him his, yet.
Eve looked out of the window and turned away quickly. The creatures were feeding on the bodies left in the street, dozens of them with more arriving every minute. They dragged the fresh bodies from the piles, discarding the useless downed feeders. Greedily they ate, trying to keep their spoils from their peers, but inevitably being forced to share by the sheer number of creatures now in the village.
* * *
The AH-64E Apache Gunship had been flying as continuously as the supply of rested crew would allow. Scouting or supporting the military operations on the ground with direct fire, the Apache had proved important. Even before it let loose with its 30mm cannon or 70mm rockets, the mere sight of it flying above the soldiers gave them a feeling of protection. The cannon and rockets caused a great deal of damage, but the targets were rarely neutralised. Limbs were torn from bodies, holes the size of fizzy drink cans punched into torsos, but unless the brain was obliterated, these damned monsters continued, if a little slower or less effective.
The helicopter flew over the countryside. The two-man crew had a basic instruction, engage confirmed targets, and report large movements of the dead or groups of civilians who may need rescuing. Their flight had been mostly uneventful, several decimated civilian camps and a few large herds of feeders reported in. They had been called upon to engage a large group of the dead blocking a military convoy transporting civilians to a rescue camp. Using more than half of the rockets onboard and several hundred rounds of 30mm shells, they continued to escort the convoy until it reached its destination. From the air, the camp already looked impressive, and it was growing at a fast rate.
Deadweight | Novella | Thornhurst Page 5