by RR Haywood
As the crew chiefs report back to Maddox, he orders them to take the bricks and debris from the walls of the knocked through back gardens and to make fall back positions where the old fence used to be. Remembering old movies where they would have s pile of sandbags and a few soldiers crouched behind, firing madly into the approaching enemy. The chiefs round youths up and start the hard work of dragging the heavy bricks over to the compound.
‘I was thinking,’ Maddox says quietly to Lenski, ‘about the idea of using the school playing fields to plant stuff. We could speak to the survivors on the estate and get them to help, so it belongs to all of us, not just the compound.’
‘Is good,’ Lenski agrees quickly, ‘it will show them we try to help and not kill them, is good yes? There be other places to use too. I think they move to the houses near here soon.’
‘Why?’ Maddox asks.
‘In old days, the king live in the castle no? The people they live in the houses near the castle so the king and his knights come to rescue them if the bad thing happen. It safer to be closer, they move here soon.’
‘Shit,’ Maddox sighed, ‘this stuff is complicated.’
‘We should get a patrol out,’ Darius interrupted, ‘check those infected ain't getting near us innit.’
‘Yeah,’ Maddox thought for a second, ‘get Jagger to take his out, tell ‘em no taxing, just a quick walk through, or they can use bikes if they want, check about and get back here.’
‘On it.’ Darius ran off, jogging towards the units.
‘He remind me of you,’ Lenski said quietly as they watched the stocky form of Darius moving away.
‘He’s a good mate, we’re lucky he’s with us. He’s always had my back. Right, where were we? Counting beds? You ready?’
‘You are the dictator no? So bossy,’ she laughed and held the pen ready above the paper.
Nine
‘Tonight then we take back what’s ours. We take that compound and we have the security and the food,’ Jeff nods round at the gathered congregation all staring at him. He knew he had them ready. Just mention terrorism, babies and drugs and they’ll do anything. He was ready to go for the ace up his sleeve and mention it’s what Princess Diana would have wanted. Most of these looked old enough to remember her. But he didn’t need too. They were hungry and scared, in fact they had been terrified for days but a couple of days of not seeing those zombies had given them a bit of confidence that the worst was over and now they could take the compound and live in safety. All of them imagined that the compound was stuffed to the rafters with rooms of fresh food and they could gorge for days and still have enough left to last forever.
Once the old man had left, Jeff had continued unopposed and talked them into his plan. Convincing them that those poor kids were being drugged and brainwashed by the Bossman, who was without doubt the main terrorist. They needed saving. The children needed help so they were doing this to save the babies, save the children and keep everyone safe.
Some had argued that being out at dark was dangerous, those things moved fast and were evil at night. Jeff successfully counter argued that none had been seen for a couple of days, that they were all dead and now was the time to strike. A full frontal assault, everyone was to bring a weapon, sticks, bats, knives or whatever tools they had lying about. They would charge the gates in the confusion of the night, while all the children were inside being injected with Heroin and they would take the compound. Save everyone and show them kids how it should be done.
As the congregation dispersed from the library, with Jeff making them go out a few at a time so there wasn’t a mass exodus on the streets. He reminded them to meet back here at sunset. Most of them asked what time that was and had to be told it was when the sun went down.
Jeff knew the outcome already. He knew that in the confusion of the night he could slip to the back and watch this lot, whipped up by strong words, charge at the gates and take those little shits out. Then he could get in and claim the prize. He would be the leader. The Bossman. He would be in charge and get these women to do what he wanted. An image of being surrounded by tough bodyguards while beautiful council estate girls hung off his arms, a big cigar in his mouth and ordering his private army to do whatever he wanted. And that fucker that punched him, he would be the first to be killed. Not by Jeff though, unless it was dark and he could shoot him with a gun from the shadows. Jeff knew he wasn’t a brave man, stupid and foolhardy but not brave. He would get these idiots to do the dirty work.
Touching his broken nose, he grimaced as he looked forward to the night and taking revenge on those little shits.
Jeff the Bossman. Yeah. That sounded good. Lord Jeff, Baron Jeff, yeah that was better. Baron Jeff of the compound.
As the last of the filthy bedraggled survivors filed out with whispered encouragement from soon-to-be Baron Jeff, he looked up at the sky wishing it was dark now and cursing these long summer days.
Ten
While Nick drives the boat towards the harbour entrance, a huge wide open mouth that stretches back deep into the city, and under order to hold a steady speed so we don’t break anything. The rest of us set about sorting our kit. Energised and ready now we’ve got something to do and somewhere to go. Another mission. On the road and doing things again. Well on the water anyway but the meaning is the same.
Wake up; steal a boat, then plan a raid on a navy warship. What more could a supermarket manager ask for, other than a kiss from the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Maybe there’ll be a dark corner on that ship we can sneak into for a few minutes.
Water bottles get re-filled, the remaining shotgun shells get handed round which amounts to four each. Four shots each before we’re down to hand weapons. Bloody hell, Blowers was right, that was too close last night. Another few minutes and we could have been finished off.
Except we didn’t did we. We got through by the skin of our teeth again and Darren is dead, his head detached from his body by Dave and kicked down the road just to be sure he doesn’t try and staple it back on. But he’s gone and about as much use as a blind fox. But that leaves that girl Marcy. Will she harbour the same vendetta as Smithy or leave us alone from now on?
My mind becomes a microclimate, a swirling vortex of suggestions, counter suggestions and ideas as I try to plan ahead. We have to get better weapons, and if I knew there weren’t survivors on that bloody Island, and if Nick could figure out the missile system, which he probably could, then I’d send a load of British Navy missiles at the damned thing and be done with it. Raze the thing into the sea and Marcy along with it.
Dave find a box of batteries and with help from Lani, they slide the backs of the radios off and fit new batteries in each one. Checking each works, transmitting and listening. He attaches a radio to each kit bag and pushes fresh batteries into the side pockets.
‘What’s the range on those things?’ I ask.
‘Not far, maybe a couple of kilometres on flat open ground, less in built up areas.’
‘Right, it’s better than nothing though. I think now’s the time for hot washes if anyone wants them.’
‘I’m first,’ Lani jumps up and grabbing her kit bag she runs into the ladies toilet letting the door swing closed behind her.
‘There’s only one male toilet on the ship, two sinks so be quick.’ Tom and Blowers move off first, taking their kit bags and going into the toilets.
‘So you think anyone will be on those ships?’ I ask Dave and Clarence.
‘Might be, there would have been some personnel on board when it happened, but it’s whether they stayed there or not,’ Clarence replies.
‘Seems a safe place to me, they must have food, fresh water, weapons and big steep sides plus loads of big guns if anyone gets too close, like us….in a big white boat.’ We stare at each other as Cookey looks between us. ‘Oh well, ‘I guess we’ll find out in a bit,’ I add cheerily and catch Cookey shrugging as he returns to re-packing his kit back.
When my turn comes, I head
into the toilet with Dave to stand in front of the small stainless steel sink. We strip down to our underpants with no sense of shame or embarrassment. Taking care due to the massive puddles left by the lads messing about we fold out clothes and set about scrubbing ourselves using the ten seconds of hot water flow we get each time we press the plunger down.
‘Oh that feels bloody nice,’ I scrub at my face with the warm water, using soap from the dispenser to lather up and rinse off. ‘So you’re alright about going for the ship then Dave?’
‘Yes Mr Howie.’
‘Is the armoury hard to find?’
‘It depends on the type of ship, if they’ve got a Marines detachment. Maybe Clarence or Blowers might know more than me.’
‘Fair one, mate, this hot water feels lovely. Strange but I don’t miss many things really. I don’t miss television or movies, not the radio, I certainly don’t miss work but little things like hot water, coffee and clean clothes. What about you?’
‘I don’t miss anything.’
‘Nothing?’
‘No Mr Howie.’
‘How come?’ I glance over to see a look of discomfort flash across his face.
‘After the service everything was…well it was unstructured. Work was the only thing worth doing but it was…’ I can see him struggling to find the words and the look of confusion on his normally expressionless face roots me to the spot. I want to finish his sentence for him but something tells me this is the time for listening.
‘Working with you was good Mr Howie, you had order and structure but the others didn’t. I couldn’t cope outside of work; I didn’t know what to do every day. I would sit and stare at the walls, train, exercise, sharpen my weapons. It was like I was waiting to get called back up…only they didn’t call me up.’ The thought of Dave not coping with something is remarkable, but then in this maelstrom of violence and upheaval his skills count for everything and he’s kept us alive time after time. But I know, more than anyone, that his social skills are virtually non-existent. He lacks empathy and understanding of other’s feelings and doesn’t get half the jokes flying about. But he fits. My god he fits in and is revered by everyone here.
I don’t want to say anything contrite or fake, and I remember my Dad telling me that sometimes the best response is to say nothing at all. So I do that, which seems to be the right thing as Dave nods at me and carries on quickly washing. He scrubs his face, neck, armpits and groin first. A squaddie wash quick and thorough, get the important bits done first and then do everywhere else. The feet are next, washed, rinsed and dried carefully between the toes. Then he does the rest of his body. I copy his actions and realise that even here, in a small toilet on-board a ferry in the middle of the sea, I’m still learning from him.
‘Dave, would you mind showing the lads how you just washed, sounds stupid but it’s really effective.’
‘Okay Mr Howie.’
‘Thanks mate.’
‘I don’t have to show Lani though do I?’
‘No Dave, you don’t.’
‘Oh okay, I’ll leave that to you Mr Howie,’ he says bluntly picking his kit bag up and walking out of the bathroom. He pauses at the door and glances back with a quick smile and he’s gone, leaving me with a mouth hanging open and shaking my head.
Excitement grows as we make final plans once everyone has washed and groomed. Gathering on the bridge and I try not to notice Lani’s glistening wet hair and the tight black vest top she’s now wearing and the cargo trousers taken from the fashion store we raided in the town. She looks the part, half soldier, half mercenary and all gorgeous sultry and stunning. The lads look pink faced but still stubbly and hard. At least we’ve all got clean tops and underwear on which, if nothing else, makes us feel cleaner.
‘It’s late afternoon,’ I say looking at the sky, ‘we get on the ship, get the gear and do one back to our fort.’ I stare round at the faces nodding back, Nick eyeing the controls and staring at the looming grey vessel ahead.
‘What do we do?’ Nick asks, ‘go straight at it? Go round a couple of times? How we getting on board?’ Looking over I see what he means. The navy ship, despite being small for a military vessel, is still much larger than us and the sides are much higher.
‘Hang on,’ Blowers steps to the window and lifts the binoculars to his eyes, ‘yeah…that’s a supply ship, it’s RFA.’
‘RFA?’ Nick asks.
‘Royal Fleet Auxiliary, it’s not a warship. They use ‘em to supply warships, food, fuel, medicine, ammunition…’
‘Ammo? Cookey exclaims, ‘there’ll be shit loads then.’
‘Yeah for the big guns, missiles and anti-aircraft. Maybe not for the rifles though, it depends…we might get lucky.’
We watch the vessel come fully into view as Nick slows our boat down. The ship is still way out from the harbour mouth and anchored in position by a huge thick chain extending out from the front. Closer now and I can see there are no big guns on board, the ship is squat and square shaped. More like a cargo ship or container vessel. We slowly move round it, lapping in a big circle as we stare up and examine the various windows and doors. Trying to detect movement. Dave takes the binoculars and sweeps them over and over up and down the ship.
‘Any one see anything?’ I ask and get a chorus of negative replies.
‘Lifeboat is missing,’ Blowers points to a gap on the side of the ship, from the symmetrical flow of the vessel I can see he must be right; there is a gap where a lifeboat should be. ‘Someone used it and got away then?’ He asks.
‘Could be, certainly indicates some kind of movement,’ I reply into the tense silence. ‘Have we got a loud speaker or anything on here?’
‘Here try this,’ Nick hands me a bullhorn with a black radio mouthpiece attached by a curly cable. Taking the loudhailer outside I face towards the ship and shout into the black mouthpiece.
‘CAN YOU HEAR ME? IS ANYONE ON BOARD?’ Nick tries to hold the boat steady while I shout repeatedly through the hailer, eventually giving up when I see Dave staring at me. Handing it over I stand well back and get ready to flinch.
‘IS ANYONE ON BOARD?’ Dave’s voice booms like a cannon across the water and I can imagine people in Scotland turning round to see who was gobbing off. He repeats it several times as Nick struggles to control the vessel, drifting us closer and closer to the navy ship.
‘Nick watch out mate!’ Blowers shouts as he tries to engage the engines and pull us away. A loud clunk sounds out, followed by a vibration and a belch of black smoke spurting out the back. Then silence as the engines cut out.
‘Nick…’ Cookey shouts in warning, ‘the engines have stopped Nick.’
‘Yeah I can see that,’ Nick shouts back, pressing buttons and desperately trying to figure it out.
‘Nick!’ Cookey yells again, ‘that ship is getting closer mate.’
‘It won’t start,’ Nick shouts in alarm, ‘someone check the engine room.’
‘I’ll go,’ Lani runs to the back of the top deck and nimbly drops down the steps, disappearing from view as we gather round the console trying to help a very flustered Nick.
‘What about this?’ Blowers asks pointing at buttons flashing. A low alarm sounds from the console, steadily getting louder and faster.
‘Nick, any idea’s what that alarm is mate?’ I keep my voice calm, trying not to get him more flustered.
‘The ships on fire,’ Lani’s loud voice comes from the back. We all freeze staring at each other then burst off and try to get through the door at once. Thick black smoke billowing from the engine room as Lani climbs back up the stairs with her hand covering her mouth.
‘It’s raging in there,’ she shouts.
‘What happened?’ Nick demands with a look of wild confusion.
‘Forget it,’ I shout, ‘get your kit bags, Nick try and aim us for the side of that ship. We need some rope.’ Everyone scatters, bursting into action. Running back down into the passenger section and grabbing kit bags and axes, passing t
hem back up onto the bridge and out on the top open air deck.
The smoke starts to seep into the passenger section as Clarence rushes to the back and closes the door, sealing the air off and preventing the choking fumes from coming in. Blowers and Tom run outside and along the side of the ship to the front, grabbing ropes and looping them arm over arm.
‘What did I say,’ I mutter to Dave as he passes the kit bags out onto the deck, ‘every bloody half hour.’
‘I’m so sorry Mr Howie, I must have done something wrong, maybe didn’t vent something or release pressure…It’s really complicated and I…’
‘Nick…Nick, take it easy mate,’ I say softly to the lad clearly wracked with guilt, ‘these things happen mate, it’s not your fault.’
‘But you said something happens every half hour…’ Nick wails.
‘Yep and it bloody does,’ I reply with a grin, ‘if it wasn’t this it would be Cookey smashing a hole somewhere, or Blowers blocking the toilet up and making us sink… or me doing something stupid! It happens mate, forget it.’
‘How we going to secure the rope to the side?’ Lani asks as Blowers and Tom clamber back through the bridge carrying the long ropes.
‘Tie an axe on,’ Dave grabs my double headed beauty and stupidly I feel a sense of panic at the thought of it getting broken. Nick negotiates the burning catamaran towards the grey bulk of the navy vessel. The supply ship’s sides are high at the front and back with a wide flat lower section in the middle and a crane positioned in the middle ready for moving heavy goods. It’s the lower middle section we aim for as Nick tries his best to pilot the drifting boat. Fortunately the weather is still gloriously hot and still with no wind or high waves to cause us more difficulty.