by Al K. Line
Be prepared — that was the motto Al had remembered his mother teaching him from an early age, once it was obvious he was a little bit 'special'.
For most of his life it had meant he simply needed to learn how to protect himself. He had been taught to ignore those that would make fun of him for the way he talked and behaved, but if he was physically abused he was ready to fight back. A gentle man by nature you would not want to get on the wrong side of him if you pushed it too far, or he thought you were going to harm him or his loved ones.
Al knew how to fight. His mother made sure of that.
And now that the bruised and battered man was out in a dangerous world on his own he had been especially clever and had not only found some choice weapons (now taken from him) but had secreted some extra bits and pieces about his person just to be on the safe side. Now seemed like quite a good time to use the Swiss Army knife he had hidden in a vest with multiple pockets he had taken from an outdoor clothing retailer he had spent quite some time in.
Al's captors had under-estimated him — just because he spoke a little funny and was different to them it didn't mean he wasn't a smart man. Al knew he was different, but he also knew that people judged him badly. That was their mistake, not his.
So, when left alone overnight Al began to extricate himself from the pickle he found himself in. He could just about move his elbows up and down a little over his broad belly, although it chafed horribly on the ropes.
Over the next hour he managed to get his multi-purpose vest to ride up until the inner pocket he was after was just beneath his chest. Next he grasped the material between his teeth and inch by painful inch, his neck muscles screaming for mercy, Al tugged at the breathable material until the secret pocket was in his mouth. Al flicked his tongue like a demented lizard, trying to push the button through the hole that secured the pocket.
Who knew the tongue could be aching so much?
It didn't stop him pursuing his goal. The button went through the hole, and Al wasted no time snuffling inside the pocket to grasp the knife with his teeth.
I am being very careful now. I will not be dropping the knife that is my friend, and I am brave Al and I am to be free soon and not like an animal any longer. And then they will pay.
Yikes!
He had a thousand thoughts running through his head in a constant monologue as he ever so slowly wedged the knife hilt between his bonds and opened the small blade on the utility knife by wedging his front tooth into the small indent on the side of the blade, gradually opening it out. After yet another battle with the blade he managed to get a firm grasp of the handle in his mouth. Next came the crucial bit — he had to twist his head to the side as far as he could, and try to lower his head enough to drop the open knife onto the sill above the radiator. As he dropped it his heart lurched as the knife thudded onto the old wooden sill and bounced close to the edge. It didn't drop to the floor, just balanced there precariously.
Not long now, I am being almost free.
The rope was looped though his arms and tied to the top of the radiator, so Al had a little bit of give for the next part of his escape. Leaning forward away from the radiator, hunching over and bringing his arms back and up behind him, he very slowly felt for the blade that was to be his salvation. He felt cold steel with his middle finger... and the knife teetered and fell toward the floor. With a reflexive grab he caught it, his huge hand wrapped around the blade — the point digging into his palm, not that he cared in the slightest. It took seconds from there to adjust his grip and slowly but steadily saw though the plastic zapstrap.
Twang.
The bad men were going to pay for Al's incarceration, he was not happy, and to make matters worse they had not fed him for what seemed like weeks — very bad mistake if you knew Al, very bad indeed.
###
Al had left Kyle and Cassie days earlier, when he discovered exactly what Ven had done, and that they all had a part to play in the unsettling new world he found himself in — his mother dead, his brain the desire of most of the people he happened across. Al had simply left, he didn't want to be friends with Ven any more, not after what she had done.
He wandered back the way they had come, but after a few hours, and the chance to cool down somewhat, he began to think that maybe he had been a little too judgmental, that really Ven and all of his new friends didn't do anything bad on purpose.
Sometimes Al acted irrationally, his mother had always warned him about this, had told him to never jump to conclusions about people, but to think things through first. If anyone should know about the bad things that can happen when people judge too quickly it should be him — this his mother had taught him. He had not done this when he left his friends after judging them so quickly.
As Al walked down the road away from his friends he felt very alone. The weather was closing in, a light drizzle beginning to fall as the clouds gathered and grew dark. It wasn't long before he regretted his decision but Cassie and Kyle were not to know this. Al carried on walking away, he had his pride and if he was honest with himself he still wasn't 100% sure that he did forgive Ven for the things she had caused. He made his way, slowly, and on foot, back to Pentref y Melltithio, a place he knew and felt he could hole up in while he tried to come to some decisions. He also thought that he could save some face and wait there until the others came for supplies, then he could bump into them — 'accidentally', and maybe join with them again.
It was a long walk, and he had hardly any food in his backpack for the journey, so he was extremely happy when he finally made it to the outskirts of the small town and raided a newsagents for some snacks and drinks. He would flip through the book on local manor houses he still had in his possession now and then as he walked, staring wistfully at the picture of what he thought was to be his home. He was seriously regretting his decision the more he looked at it and thought of the others.
He had encountered a number of zombies on the way, some of them so gaunt he wondered how they could carry on, others in surprisingly good health: full bellied and very fast. He dealt with them all, a large stick he picked up on the way became a very useful club for bashing zombie brains if the need arose — it did. Al made slow progress, encountering more and more of the infected the closer he got to the town.
He even had to spend a night up a tree, waking to find half a dozen zombies waiting for him below. That had been the closest he had come to being eaten so far, only saved by his large bulk as he dropped down inelegantly and smashed into three of the hungry in one fell swoop. They seemed a lot more manic the further away they were from what was once civilization. Hunger driving them to desperation beyond even their usual unhinged frenzy.
He noted with growing unease that they also seemed to be congregating in packs. Maybe realizing that they stood a better chance of lunch if they were in a group? It was a scary thought.
It was totally different being on foot to traveling by car. The smell of human flesh was so much stronger that they were drawn to Al from a considerable distance. It meant that what seemed like relatively quiet roads and lanes on the drive out were much more treacherous by foot returning to town. Al put a brave face on it though, always dutifully bashing brains as and when needed.
But he really wanted a sandwich — maybe three... six?
Just as Al was exiting the newsagents, mouth full of food, crumbs congregating in his fast growing beard, shopping bags bursting at the seams, a large battered white Jeep Grand Cherokee pulled up alongside. Two men confidently stepped out of the vehicle.
There was something not quite right about them, Al just couldn't quite figure out what it was... That was it, they were both wearing immaculate white shirts with matching dark navy blue ties. Crisp lines on their freshly laundered shirts and dark trousers with brown loafers made them look like they were just on the way to the office, not in the midst of zombie botnet meltdown.
Al's 6' 7" frame gave an ever so slight shudder, he knew trouble when he saw it, even if he coul
dn't really say what was wrong with these men in shirts he knew there was definitely something askew.
"Hi," said one of the men. A large twisted but supposedly friendly smile playing across his face. "I'm Steve, and this is Jack," he said, pointing his thumb in the direction of his companion.
"And I am having the name Alex, but..." Al paused, realizing they did not deserve his very best joke.
"And?" said the man introduced as Jack, who had been silent up until now.
"It is nothing, I am Alex," said Al, not liking where this was going already.
"Well, okay," said Jack. "You're a big guy aren't you, what you doing here then?"
"I am having a lot of hunger, so I am getting the food."
"Well, Alex, I'm afraid there is a little bit of a problem you see. That is our shop, and you are stealing from us, and we don't like thieves one bit, do we Jack?"
"No, we don't Steve, we don't like people that steal at all," said Jack, grinning mischievously and looking for all the world like he was just about to go to an office meeting.
Al had a really bad feeling about this, he knew that it was not going to end well at all. And Al knew that when faced with confrontations you should run if you could, and if you couldn't run then you should strike first — then run.
Al sprang into action, arms wide ready for a double bear hug. He charged at the pair of office drones, intending to grab them both in his densely muscled arms and knock them to the floor. He only managed to grab one of them, Steve, the other stepping back just in time. Al and Steve tumbled to the floor, the wind taken out of Steve as Al's weight bore down on top of him. Al was just about to plunge a fist into Steve's face when his world went black.
Jack had smashed the butt of a handgun into the side of his head, rendering Al instantly unconscious.
Brake. Brake. BRAKE!
"Put your foot on the fucking brake!" screamed Ven. She was now about ready to tear her hair out. "Brake. Brake. BRAKE! Kyle, stop the fucking car."
Kyle slammed his foot onto the accelerator even harder, getting the pedals mixed up — once again. It had been going on for hours and Ven was fearing for her life, as well as worrying her son would have to begin fending for himself at only three months of age. Who would teach him how to use Facebook once the Web was fixed if mommy and daddy died, as trying to teach the young daddy was akin to teaching a brick how to drive?
It was easy to forget quite how hard it is learning how to control the complexities of the combustion engine housed in its complicated shell. Once you have driving mastered you don't ever think back to the days of almost killing your driving instructor on multiple occasions. It comes so naturally you are hard pushed to even answer the question 'which side is the clutch on?' if asked. It's like breathing: you do it naturally. But when you're learning? That's a whole different ball game. What seems like something that should be so simple — after all everyone can drive — seems like an impossible task.
Ven had been trying to teach Kyle how to drive for days now, every hour it was getting more and more frustrating. They had the biggest arguments of their friendship over how to press down on the clutch and change gears, and when she tried to explain how to do a hill start and Kyle nearly killed them by rolling backwards down the hill, very nearly over the edge of the track, she came close to just throttling him and having done with the whole sorry mess. Once the car had stopped, of course.
Kyle finally figured out which pedal was which and slowed the car down. Ven took her hands away from her eyes, visions of the end scene of the Italian Job flashing though her brain.
"Okay, and as we come to a total stop we simply push down on the clutch, put the gearstick into neutral and put the handbrake on whilst we take a deep breath," Ven said, under a calm veneer she certainly didn't feel.
Kyle slowed down, pushed his left foot slightly on the clutch pedal, tried to shift gears into neutral and promptly stalled the car.
"Fuck, I thought I had it right," said a very exasperated Kyle. "How come even the most idiotic of people learn to drive? This shit is really hard." For the life of him Kyle couldn't figure out how three pedals and a gearstick could lead to so much confusion.
"It gets easier, trust me. Although some people are naturals, and some aren't," said Ven diplomatically. "Right, look, let's go over this again. Once the engine is running the first thing is to push down to the floor on the clutch pedal. That's the pedal on the left Kyle, not the right. Once you push down on the clutch you put the car into first gear. Then you slowly press down on the accelerator, the pedal on the right. And as you do that you slowly take your foot off the clutch as you release the handbrake. Then, a few moments later, you push down again on the clutch and change up into second. You do that every time you want to change gear, either up or down, and you always take your foot off the clutch slowly."
"So why can't I just leave my foot on the clutch then? That would make life a lot easier."
Ven sighed. "Because that is not how it works. That's not how cars function."
"Okay. So, answer me this then — why does it keep stalling if I am doing that?"
A deeper sigh escaped her lips this time. "Because you have to balance the clutch pedal with the accelerator pedal. When you come off the clutch you go down on the accelerator to let more fuel through the carburetor. Think of it like a see-saw. As one comes up the other goes down. It's a balancing act. You can't just slam into a gear and pull your foot straight off the clutch, you have to do it slowly and feel the bite of the accelerator. That's also how you do a hill start. You feel the biting point. It's all a balancing act."
"Right, got it," said Kyle confidently. "Let's do this thang shall we?"
"Let's," sighed Ven.
No way is he teaching Tomas to drive.
Kyle put his foot on the clutch and pushed the start button to fire up the engine. He then pushed his foot onto the clutch pedal again and with just minimal grinding of the gears this time managed to put the car into first gear. He ever so slowly pressed down on the accelerator pedal and felt an almost intuitive bite of the engine, like the force was with him or something. He smiled at Ven, who simply pointed out of the front window, telling Kyle to keep his eyes front and centered. Kyle released the handbrake and he could feel the perfect balance he had achieved.
Slowly he increased the pressure on the accelerator and released pressure on the clutch. The car inched forward steadily.
"Great, great. Now, increase your speed a little and then go into second gear."
The car lurched a little but Kyle eased back, he pressed down on the clutch, went smoothly into second, and released the pressure on the pedal very gently. Momentum increased and Kyle went for third gear. New territory.
Smooth. I am nailing this, thought Kyle.
They were now at 15mph and Kyle turned to go around the back of the barns to the right of the house then around the large walled garden. Steering, plus all the pedals, as well as having to think about everything all at once was no mean feat, but he managed it pretty well. He did nearly run over a chicken though.
Fuck, what if it rains and I have to use the wipers as well? And what if I need the headlights too? Shit!
He made it all the way back around, coming up to the front of the house. He eased off the power, pressed down on the clutch, and grated into second. Slowing again he pushed the clutch once more, went into first and as he eased off the clutch the car juddered a little as his speed was a touch high still, but he corrected and slowed down even more. As they came to a halt he pushed down on the clutch once more, pressed harder on the brake (the pedal in the middle), and once stopped he pulled on the handbrake and put the car into neutral.
"By Jove I think you've cracked it old bean," said Ven, doing her best Jeeves impression. "Good job that man."
Kyle beamed. "That was pretty good, right? No kidding? I think that was the best yet."
"Too fucking right it was, it was the only time you made it around the house without hitting something or stalling
," said Ven, smiling and thinking that maybe Kyle would actually be able to drive after all.
It would make a serious world of difference to their lives if Kyle could share the burden of driving, and it did seem like he was getting to grips with the complexities of the British motor car. Teaching someone to drive had made her realize exactly how damn complicated it all was. It's amazing anyone passed their test really.
"Right, I think from now on you should practice solo. Baby Tomas has been on his own too long lately, I need to spend some time with him."
Ven was right, she hadn't dared put him in the car with them, and leaving him alone was not without its perils. The risk of an infected was always present, although getting into the house would be nigh on impossible for them. But still, it weighed heavily, and Ven was understandably very concerned about how the little fellow would develop, the glimpse of the botnet he had was a major concern, and she was sure there would be consequences — she merely didn't know what they would be.
"Sure Ven, no problem. I think I am getting the hang of it finally, so you look after the little dude and I will keep practicing. I don't want you to have to do all the driving any more, plus if someone asks me one more time why I can't drive I think I will scream."
"That's great Kyle," said Ven, smoothing down her skirt as she flipped down the passenger visor to check her hair in the mirror.
I need a haircut.
She eyed her reflection, thinking that she had to start making more of an effort with her make-up in the mornings from now on. She had been letting her morning routine slide for too long, there was no need for it any more. They were pretty settled here now, even if they were very reduced in terms of numbers.
"Fancy a sarnie?" asked Ven. "Cheese and pickle alright?"
"Mm, lovely," said Kyle. "How about mustard on one of mine please?"
"You got it Nigel," said Ven.
Kyle looked confused. "Nigel?"
"Yeah, you know, Nigel Mansel, the... never mind," said Ven, realizing it wasn't worth trying to explain. "I'll go make the sandwiches."