Billy looked over at the young girl. She had her arms folded over her chest as if she were cold. She was maybe two foot shorter than him and he guessed one of his arms weighed more than she did in total. In spite of her frail frame, he could see intensity in her eyes.
“What about you, kid? Can you drive?" Billy asked.
“I’m too young to have a license,” Karen replied.
“I didn’t ask if you had a license, kid.”
“I’ve driven Nate’s round a parking lot,” Karen said.
Billy looked at Thomas and they held their gaze on each other for a while as if they were communicating telepathically.
“Fuck it,” Billy muttered.
He walked over to the metal box on the wall he’d prized open and pulled down a key. It had a fawn cardboard tag with a registration number scrawled across it. Billy didn’t even read the tag. He held it aloft like a magi about to start an incantation and press the button.
The lights flashed on the Audi up on the workshop ramp.
“Not that one,” Billy said as he tossed the key aside.
He picked up another key and pressed the button. This time a saloon car chirped and flashed.
“That’ll do,” Billy said. He tossed the key over to Karen. “Load it up with as much stuff as you can from the bus. Doesn’t matter what, just get it in there. It won’t be long before we draw in company. Soon as we do, get in and follow Thomas.”
“How do we know the car will work?” Karen asked. “We’re in a repair shop, after all.”
Billy tilted his head to get a better look at the car.
“Don’t look fucked up,” he answered glibly.
Karen still looked worried.
“It’s a dealership, kid,” Billy explained. “These guys are in for their free service: fresh air-con cartridge, oil change—you know, ten thousand-mile service.”
“Stop gabbing and give me a hand with the trailer,” Thomas demanded.
Billy scurried over and started to help Thomas move the trailer from behind the bus and onto the tow hook of a people-carrier.
Karen walked over to the car and eyed it up like it was a threat. She had driven around the odd empty parking lot, mainly with Shan’s boyfriend, but these had been ten-minute affairs with plenty of room to make mistakes. She looked out of the open workshop doors. On the forecourt there were rows of burnt-out cars. Karen had held out little hope of finding a replacement vehicle as they chugged up to the dealership in the ailing mini bus. The glass facade of the show room was smashed in and the cars either stolen or wrecked. The rioters had obviously ignored the workshop at the back of the showroom in their orgy of theft and destruction.
The world had collapsed and in its dying gasps people hadn’t fought to survive—they had fought to acquire a better car or to vent their frustration on these inanimate shells of metal.
“Don’t just stand there—get packing,” Thomas said from behind her.
Karen looked round to see Billy and Thomas finish hooking the trailer up to the people carrier. They were now grabbing arms full of supplies from the back of the broken down mini bus and transferring them to the newly acquired vehicle.
“I’m not sure about driving the car,” Karen confessed.
“Can you start it?” Billy asked.
“Of course,” Karen answered.
“Can you turn the steering wheel?” Billy continued.
“Yeah.”
“Then you’ll be fine. The rest is gravy.”
“Let’s face it,” Thomas added, “you’ll not have any cops pulling you over and asking for your licence just because you failed to stop at a light.”
“Thomas here will take the lead, you in the middle, and I’ll follow up in the rear with the people carrier and the trailer,” Billy said. “Colin’s in the back with me and I’ll keep the passenger seat free. If anything goes wrong, I’ll pull up alongside you and you can ride shotgun with me.”
Karen nodded and let a slight smile grace her lips.
“Good. Now load as much shit in these cars as you can before we start attracting attention.”
Comforted by Billy’s words, Karen opened the back door to the car and started filling it up with the various cans and bags of food from the mini bus.
“Should we search the garage for useful stuff?” Thomas asked, holding an armful of dried goods.
“I don’t know,” Billy said. “What are we likely to find? A vending machine and some key fobs?”
“It’s a garage, man—there’s a ton of tools and kits here," Thomas said.
“What would we do with them?”
“I don’t know…fix things.”
“I don’t think it’s worth the payoff. If we’re going to raid places, we should go for high value targets like food depots.”
“But we’re here,” Thomas argued. “We don’t need to go out of our way just take the opportunity.”
“Wait—be quiet a second,” Karen said.
Everyone stood still.
Karen peered out of the open entrance. The narrow view was the same as before, torched cars and debris.
“What is it?” Thomas asked.
Karen cocked her head. “I heard something. It was...”
A moan drifted towards them on the acrid wind.
“Shit,” Billy cursed softly. “Get in the cars.”
“No, wait,” Thomas said. “Keep loading. I’ll take care of this.”
He bent down to a square red jack on the floor. He placed one foot on the body of the jack and quickly unscrewed the long metal handle. He held it in one hand and tapped the shaft against the palm of his other hand.
“Right, let’s shut this fucker up,” Thomas said, taking long strides out of the garage doors.
Billy got back to loading up the supplies, but Karen watched as Thomas quick-stepped up the short incline from the service bay. When he disappeared out of sight, she turned back to loading up the car.
“Do you think Shan will be okay?” Karen asked.
“You know her better than us,” Billy replied. “What do you think?”
“I guess she can look after herself,” Karen said. “I mean, I know she can look after herself, it’s just that she can take things too far. You know, go over the top.”
“Yeah, I know,” Billy agreed.
“She can look after herself, but she needed me to hold her back a bit—not that I could sometimes.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Billy said. “I used to ride with a guy just the same.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Karen asked.
“Doubt it. He was fond of a drink and didn’t have the sense to leave his bike. Got a call one morning from his maw that he was in hospital. He’d lost control coming home from a session and got himself in an argument with a truck. He lived just long enough to sober up and realize how stupid he’d been.”
“Oh,” was all Karen could say.
Looking at the young girl, Billy realized he had spooked her a little. Embarrassed, he broke eye contact.
“Where the hell is Thomas?” he asked. “You keep loading. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Marching out of the doors, Billy stood at the top of the incline that led into the workshop. He looked around, but couldn’t see Thomas anywhere.
The moaning that had led Thomas out of the garage had ceased, but there was a distant humming, like bees in a swarm.
Billy walked up to the right to get a view of the way they had come. He turned the corner of the car dealership and was afforded a view that struck him cold.
Down the road they had just taken from the school came a wall of undead. Still a quarter of a mile away, the zombies had been far out-paced by the ailing school minibus, but they were doggedly following its course.
Billy turned tail and ran back. He went straight past the entrance and down to the left side of the building.
On the gravel verge by one of the billowing dealership flags, there lay a soldier dressed in battle armour and wear
ing a helmet. Through an eye socket there protruded the red powder-coated handle for the jack.
Billy shouted, “Thomas!”
There was no reply. He took a few paces further and cupped his hands around his mouth.
He called again, “Thomas!”
Thomas appeared from behind a brick wall. He was grinning from ear to ear.
Draped from his shoulders were four or five assault rifles.
“Ah, you’ve seen my handiwork then,” Thomas said, looking at the immobilised zombie. “Took forever getting him pinned through the eye; bloody helmet getting in the way.”
“Where the fuck did you get those?” Billy asked in amazement.
“Back there.” Thomas nodded over his shoulder. “There’s an army truck on its side. Thought they’d come in useful.” He trotted past Billy, carrying the heavy guns. “There’s more stuff in there, but be careful,” he added with a mischievous laugh.
Billy jogged around the corner to see a massive jeep-type vehicle on its side. There was a fresh scrape up the road where it had obviously skidded over.
“Must’ve been going some speed, boy,” Billy said to himself.
The truck was tan coloured, either destined for or recently returned from a tour in the Middle East. Behind the thick metal mesh that screened the whole vehicle, Billy could see the driver slumped at the bottom of the cab, blood on the inside of the windshield. Halfway out of the machine gun turret hung a second body, that of a young soldier. His left arm lay under him and must have dislocated from the shoulder.
Billy walked to the back of the massive six-wheeler to where the rear hatches were open. There was some banging from inside.
Cautiously, he peered through the open doors. Immediately the zombified soldier groaned and lunged at him.
Billy stepped back, but then realised he was in no danger. The hapless soldier was strapped firmly into a seat with a four-point harness. On its forearm it sported a blood-stained bandage, no doubt from the wound that originally infected him.
“Poor bastard,” Billy said.
“Who?” Thomas asked, coming up behind him. “Oh, Private Gibson there.”
“We’d better work quickly; there’s a mob of those dead fuckers following us from the school,” Billy said.
“This was a stroke of luck,” Thomas said.
Billy shook his head. “Not for them it wasn’t.”
Chapter 13
Blowout
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Mo stepped out onto the third floor. A couple of days ago he was mentally berating John for his laziness in taking the lift, and now here he was doing the same.
But Mo’s laziness wasn’t physical. He could easily jog up the stairs. Mo was purposefully avoiding Sharon and the confrontational attitude she’d taken towards him this morning. Mo didn’t know what he’d done to provoke her displeasure. He’d encountered prejudice and hate many times in his life, none of it based on anything tangible. Being the pragmatist that he was, he didn’t waste time trying to figure out what, if anything, he’d done to incur Sharon’s anger. So Mo decided to take the path of least resistance and avoid Sharon as best he could.
He stood with his hands clutched round the cold railing, looking down the stairwell. It was void of signs of life.
Sharon and Melissa must still be in the first floor office, Mo thought.
His stomach made a growling noise so loud that the rumble echoed off the walls. He was hungry, but wanted to avoid going to the canteen for as long as possible. Sharon might go off at him again, or John might make some snidey comment.
The hunger was no worse than fasting and far less of a discomfort than having to deal with Sharon and her crony, John.
An unsettling thought occurred to Mo: What if the guys don’t make it back?
Sure, the food would last longer, but Mo would have to deal with Sharon’s politicking of the others. Was she trying to edge him out? Trying to turn the others against him?
Mo had heard staff bitching about her being two-faced. At the time he’d put the backstabbing down to the redundancies and the ill feelings the loss of job security had created. He was a placid kind of guy, but Sharon was the polar opposite: aggressive, stubborn, and self-absorbed—everything he had come to expect in a manager.
He knew he would have to be careful in the coming days.
He walked into the gents’ toilet. With the generator running, the lights sprang to life as he entered the room. He went to the sink and started the tap running.
Mo knew he wouldn’t be able to do this for long. The water pressure would drop and he wouldn’t be able to wash himself properly. But for now he could, and he was thankful for such a blessing.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was too short to show any sign of neglect, but raising his chin high he could see the stubble making an appearance over his neck and jaw. He swept a hand over his cheek and felt the bristles that were starting to give his skin a darker tint.
“Where am I going to find a shaving kit in here?” he asked his reflection.
Other than Sharon, no one else seemed to be making the time to stay clean.
Mo gave a smirk to himself in the mirror, realising there was one trait he and Sharon shared.
He rolled his sleeves up, took off his socks and shoes, and set about his ablutions.
It only took a few minutes to go through his ritual of cleaning. When he was done, he walked out of the toilet and into the third floor office. He had chosen the third floor, as this gave him a modicum of isolation. Liz’s infected boy was tied up on the fourth floor, as far away from their living quarters as possible, and the third and second floors were empty save for desks and chairs. There was no reason anyone would come onto this floor. No reason anyone would disturb him. Little chance he would be discovered.
He walked over to the meeting room. It was nothing more than a glass box dropped at the end of the office. All the floors had two meeting rooms, one at each end. No imagination to the building’s design; it was just a cheap battery farm to house phone-monkeys.
Before entering the room he decided to take a walk over to the window and check if Colin, Billy, and Thomas had made it back yet.
***
Bolting out of the loading bay, Mo could see three cars lined up in the alleyway waiting patiently at the gate. The smog-muffled sun was on its way down, drawing darkness with it.
His lungs pounding, Mo thundered across the tarmac, key in hand.
“Come on, we ain’t got all day!” Thomas called from his open window.
Mo slipped the key in the lock. “Everything go all right?”
“Fine, fine,” Thomas replied. “But get a move-on, will you.”
Excitedly Mo nodded and pulled the gates open.
A moan echoed off the walls of the alley. Mo looked up from holding the gate open, but couldn’t see any zombies.
As soon as the gates were fully open, the procession made its way into the parking lot.
Mo looked into the window of the middle car and saw a teenaged girl. As Billy pulled past he made a quizzical face and pointed at the second car.
Billy unwound his window. “Waif we picked up. Don’t shut the gates just yet.”
Mo frowned. “Why?”
“I’ll explain in a minute,” Billy said.
There was the sound of barking and an excited blur exploded from the loading bay to dance wildly in front of Billy’s car.
“Good girl. Good girl,” Billy praised in a high-pitched tone. He hopped out of his vehicle, and grabbing the dog by the jowls he rubbed at its head vigorously. “Good girl. Now stay.”
The dog immediately stuck its backside to the tarmac, tongue out, panting heavily.
Running to catch up with the dog came Melissa and the rest of the building’s occupants.
Billy proceeded to Karen’s car.
“Leave the engine running and get out,” he said.
Karen obeyed and slipped out of the car. As soon as she did, Billy took he
r place. He put the car in reverse and burled it around to face the alleyway. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, he drove the car through the open gates.
“Where the hell is he going?” Thomas asked, standing by his procured car.
John hopped down from the loading bay steps.
“Where's my car?” he asked.
“We traded her in,” Thomas replied with a smirk.
“Seriously, where’s my car?” John said angrily.
The sharp crunch of metal and dull thud of plastic drew the group’s attention back to Billy.
“What’s he doing?” Sharon asked.
“Well, if he’s trying to make a run for it, he’s fucked it up,” Thomas quipped.
Billy had struck one of the large commercial refuse bins and was nudging it down the alleyway. The plastic scraping against the stone sent a tremendous din reverberating off the canyon-esque walls of the buildings.
“He’s blocking the access,” Mo said.
“Why?” John asked.
“I get it,” Thomas said.
He ducked back into the car and started up the engine. Like his comrade before him, he swept the car around in reverse until he faced the gate. This time though, he turned right and began pushing a refuse bin to block the south of the alleyway.
“Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Sharon demanded.
“It’s them,” Karen said softly.
“Who? You’re not making much sense,” Sharon said indignantly. “And who are you anyway?”
“They followed us. Thousands of them,” Karen replied.
“They followed you? Why did you lead them back here?”
“The fence won’t keep them out,” Karen said. “They’ll break through it like they did at the school.”
“They’re barricading the alleyway,” Mo said.
“Will that be enough?” John asked.
“I don’t know,” Mo answered.
“Maybe if they can’t get in they’ll leave us alone,” Karen said.
“I very much doubt that,” Sharon said, walking back into the building.
***
Demise of the Living Page 19