The Farm

by Carter, Stuart

  They all paused to stare in horror as they watched him close in on them until Simon stepped forwards. He swung the crowbar like a short golf club, connecting solidly with the man’s skull. There was a dull crunch, and a spray of blood. The head rolled, but stayed intact. The man’s only reaction was to try and grab at Simon’s leg and draw it closer to a blackened set of teeth. Simon turned the crow bar around and forced the pointy end through the top of the man’s head. As he pulled the weapon free there was a spray of blood and yellowish, gloopy brain material. The smell of meat that had been left to rot for weeks hit them all, but there was no more movement from him. Around them plenty of others were slowly closing in.

  “I guess anyone that could move properly ran off after the cars. We should get out of here while the coast is clear.” Ruth punctuated the sentence by swinging a sledgehammer down onto the skull of another slowly crawling zombie. This one’s head shattered with the first blow, shards of bone and blobs of blood and brain splashing in all directions.

  “Should we kill off the ones left around here first? Put them out of their misery?” Lucy asked.

  “We should leave them. It would be kinder to kill them, but a splash of blood in the wrong direction could spread the infection.” Hannah answered. “We need to keep ourselves safe before we start getting compassionate.”

  “What about him?” Simon asked, pointing to a man who was quietly sobbing as he watched them. Several bodies were around him. He was holding a savage looking knife, which he had been killing the dead with as they crawled to him. He was sat with his back against a wall. Not much was left of the legs that stretched out in front of him. Most of the bones were visible. It was a miracle that he hadn’t bled to death already.

  “Why isn’t he dead already?” Lucy asked.

  “I think it’s the infection. His blood is coagulating far faster than it would normally. It’s keeping him alive so it can spread itself.”

  He was obviously listening to their conversation. “Do it,” they heard him gasp. “Kill me. Please.”

  Simon responded to the group, talking like the man wasn’t there listening to them, “He’s still human. I don’t think I could kill him.”

  “He’s infected, and he’s in a lot of pain. Death is the best thing for him in these circumstances.”

  “If you can rationalise it so easily, you kill him.” Simon replied.

  Hannah tried, approaching with weapon raised, but as she looked at the figure in front of her, clenching his teeth, awaiting the blow, she found it impossible to take the final swing. Not killing another human being was a rule too deeply ingrained. When they were actively trying to kill you it was a very different concept. After all four of them had stepped up and failed to put the man out of his misery, they found the car and drove off. In the background they could hear the man cursing them and their cowardice. In their compassion they left him to a slow, painful death rather and administering a quick exit.

  The Farm

  To some extent, things settled down quickly with the new arrivals. Everyone submitted quickly to being searched for bites, and all of the newcomers passed. They sat down together, the Londoners, and a few of the leaders of the Farm community. In unromantic terms, the lifestyle that was being offered was explained. The work. The accommodation. The community. The external threats around them. The alternative lifestyle was well understood. The Londoners were well aware that they were ill equipped to deal with the dangers they had been facing. They’d seen too many deaths, had no plan and no direction. Cooper, quietly watching the conversations, observed Jed had momentarily looked ready to argue against submitting to anyone else’s rules, but spotted in time how strongly the safe haven appealed to the rest of his group. He suspected that the argument would be made in time more surreptitiously, but now was not the time to challenge it.

  Few of the newcomers were keen to throw themselves into hard manual work. Almost unanimously they put themselves forward for guard duty. Manning the guns seemed like a relatively light shift. Jose was one of the few who didn’t, and watched as the rest were given a gun and a few bullets. They were taken to a field that was rampant with rabbits. After a few rounds of shots the warrens were largely unaffected. The two who had made successful kills were given a couple more bullets to prove themselves. The rest were told to give up their weapons. When faced with protests one of the farmers grabbed a gun, and within seconds picked off five targets, all running and dodging rapidly after the first shot.

  “The guns we have aren’t fast enough or powerful enough to destroy a big area. Every shot needs to be precise. We have limited guns, so everyone holding them needs to be able to kill a charging crowd of zombies quickly and efficiently. If the wrong people have the guns we all die. If we find a farm with bullets to share we can let more of you practice, but we have focus on the safety of the people here above all else.”

  The demonstration was enough to see the rest of the guns handed over. The two who had passed the first test were allowed to continue, the rest were reassigned. Not all looked happy about it, but none had any way to debate the logic of the decision. They knew that they couldn’t match the killing power that had been displayed.

  From there on it was hard work. They had reverted to a labour intensive form of farming, and the newcomers had a massive amount to learn. Even those deemed worthy of carrying guns found the workload was huge. A massive area of farmland had been captured, and it all needed to be patrolled and protected. When they weren’t hiking, they were digging trenches or learning how to build barriers that were sturdy enough to slow an attack until the assailants could all be shot.

  There were countless blisters, and countless complaints, but with each passing day, for most, a growing pride in what they were doing. For the majority who had taken up farming, each new shoot, and stalk was a reflection of what they had done, and what would feed them through the winter. It was a sign of the future they were building. For the others, each new barrier built made them all a little safer. Initially, none of them were good farmers or builders, but once stated they were surprisingly willing.

  Jose had had a brief moment of considering making this kind of move before the apocalypse kicked in, and wished he had done it years ago rather than wasting his life stagnating on the London streets. He had found himself spending a lot of time with John learning about the fine details of horticulture. Despite there only being a couple of years between them, John felt like a bit of a father figure, passing on his knowledge. Too many empty years made Jose feel childish next to the other man, lacking experiences to share. But at least now he knew he was learning important things and growing as a person. And still, outside of the work, he was ending the day with Becky beside him. They lacked the privacy they had had before, but at least she seemed to have forgiven him for letting her down in the last attack. New accommodation was already being built that would make things perfect.

  When they had first come to the farm Jose had not expected it to work. He hadn’t been alone in the assumption, but everyone had kept quiet about why they expected the relationship to fail. The big test took less than a week to come. Predictably the crisis was instigated by Jed. He’d always been one of the sticking points in the union, but initially his relationship with the owner of the house they had been squatting in seemed to keep him in check. She was drawn to the relative safety of the farm, and he seemed drawn to the easy access she offered to her body.

  The nights were short, but at the height of the darkness the house was awoken by screaming. The danger of the times had caused a lightness of sleep in everyone. At the first sound everyone assumed that their defences had been breached and a full scale attack upon them. John was first to the source of the scream, wielding a short axe that he kept within easy reach while he slept. There wasn’t much light as he burst into the room, but there was enough to see a figure pinning down a woman on the bed, one hand pressed down on her mouth, the other hand tearing at her nightdress as she struggled underneath him. John’s mind
was still struggling to confirm that it was not a zombie in attack as he shouted to distract it, and raised his axe.

  The attacker reacted fast, quickly on his feet and telling John to calm down, giving the impression that John was over reacting. He may have doubted himself if the victim had not reacted almost as quickly, springing to her feet and putting John between the attacker and herself. Believing that the immediate danger to be over, he lowered his axe.

  As John relaxed his stance, the attacker took advantage, knocking the weapon out of his hand. The silhouette in front of him moved fast, the beard and shaggy hair too common now to give any clue to identity, barging into John, forcing him out of the way of the door. The man made a break for freedom out of the door, but his speed was not enough to off-set the lack of space. John caught hold of an arm as he passed and hauled the man back into the room.

  Retreat immediately became attack. Punches flew in on John, and he had little idea how to defend himself. He felt his nose crack, and felt blood run down over his lips and slide down his chin. He took a swing, a wild curving hook, which would have been easy to avoid if his assailant wasn’t so focused on pressing his own attack. John’s lack of experience in a fight couldn’t erase the power of muscles hardened by years of solid graft, and hearty meals. Off balance already in his attack, the other man crashed to the floor as the fist connected perfectly with his cheekbone. The whole encounter hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds. Back up arrived on the scene before the fight could resume, and the room lit up with torchlight.

  “What’s happening? Has the perimeter been breached?” a voice hidden behind a blinding light asked.

  “”No, it’s just him.” John answered, pointing at the man getting back to his feet. “He’s not infected. He knew what he was doing when he got in here.” For some reason he momentarily found himself more annoyed at the new nasal tone in his voice than the attempted crime. The victim spoke next,

  “That arsehole tried to rape me.” Her face was already swelling, and marks were showing on her neck that would turn into nasty bruises. More people were turning up in the hallway.

  “One of you go and get some rope. We’ll tie him up and deal with him in the morning. And get a cloth or something for my nose. Mum will kill me if I keep bleeding over her carpet.”

  His instructions were followed without question. Jed, whose face was revealed in the light, was tied and carried out of the house to a shed that could be sealed closed from the outside. Everyone was soon back in bed. No one slept much, but they all remained quiet as death until the morning arrived, and they sprung to life, early as usual.

  Over breakfast John held council with his dad and with Cooper.

  “What are we going to do about last night?” he asked looking at the two older men.

  “For one thing, we’re going to find someone to do a better job of patching up your nose than you’ve done yourself. We’re lacking a Doctor here, but we’ve got a couple of vets who could set it properly.” His father answered.

  “The state of my nose is not the issue here. A woman nearly got raped last night, and she’s looking pretty battered for putting up a fight.”

  “We haven’t got many choices here.” Cooper started. “We don’t have the option of maintaining a prison. We don’t have the resources to keep someone who isn’t contributing to the community.”

  “So you’re suggesting a slap on the wrist and we let him get back on with his life?” John asked. “How could anyone feel safe?”

  “I’m suggesting the opposite.” Cooper answered. “It’s got to be death.” He paused. “We should do it quickly. Don’t want his friends getting hold of guns and rallying around him and causing a bloodbath.”

  “We’re not going to just walk out there and shoot him.” Matthew answered. “Civilization may be on its knees, but owe it at least a trial in its memory.”

  At this point Jose burst into the room. As the three seated men looked up at him he seemed to lose his confidence and forget what he had meant to say to them.

  “You here to plea your friend’s innocence?” Cooper asked. He failed to keep all of the hostility out of his voice.

  “By the sounds of it the case against him is clear. I don’t see a prison here, and I don’t think building one will be much of a priority. I came to tell you not to issue a death sentence.”

  “Last night he attacked a young woman, hit her, strangled her, and tried to rape her. Might have killed her to cover his tracks for all we know. Do you really think we can allow someone like that to continue to walk around the farm? How could anyone feel safe on the farm if we allow crimes like this? What choice do we have?” Matthew answered.

  “His friends won’t let you kill him without a fight. We do have some loyalty.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “That’s just how it is. But a conflict can be avoided.”

  “What are you suggesting?” John asked. He had to get the question in quickly as he could see the irritation rising in the former policeman.

  “Banishment. It would have been irrelevant before the zombies, but now it’s a proper sentence again. It’s close enough to a death sentence that your people will be happy. His chances are slim. If he tries to get back onto the farm he can justifiably be shot same as a zombie. I think that for my group you’re giving him enough of a chance that they don’t need to do anything reckless. It’s tough here, but I think they’re all starting to appreciate being a part of something, and I know that we all like being able to sleep at night confident that we’ll wake in the morning. Send him away and everyone will see the punishment as harsh or lenient as suits them to maintain the status quo.”

  The other three thought for a minute. Cooper was the first to respond,

  “That could work. We have the trial that you want Matthew. We put forward the death sentence. Offer him banishment as a lenient option.”

  “Let me talk to him. I can convince him to ask for it. Tell him it’s just a way to get off this farm and find something better.”

  “Why would that be a good thing? Looks like we’re giving a criminal what they want.”

  “Anyone who isn’t willing to be part of this life will follow him based on that. I don’t think they will, but anyone who’ll be a problem will commit to follow him back out there. Any future problems are gone. It won’t be hard to tell the people who stay what they have exposed themselves to. We’ve all seen far too much death.”

  “I’m not convinced by the last part, but I’ll go along with it if you two are on board.” Cooper answered, looking toward the Woods.

  “Sounds like the best way out of a bad situation,” John answered. “How do we run the trial? Do we have any legal professionals on the farm?”

  “Not that I know of,” his father answered, “but it may be easier if we don’t. Saves getting too caught up in procedure. There’s work we’re all neglecting as long as this is dragged out.”

  “Matt, you’re going to be judge on this trial. Jose, you’ll represent the defence. I’m the prosecution.” Cooper announced.

  “Ok, lets get this over with. Trials in one hour. Jose, go and talk to your client. This conversation never happened. We’ll spread the word and round up the witnesses.” John got to his feet to go about his tasks, so the other three quickly followed suit.

  Jed’s trial went mostly to plan. Behind his bravado the threat of execution scared him. Escaping the farm to start afresh appealed to him. Life on the farm hadn’t suited him from the start. He soon convinced himself that this was going to get the gang back on the road living free and easy. The only real challenge came from his partner, who insisted that he had been with her, and had only left her side when he heard the commotion in the house and had gone to help. She sounded like she believed it, but too many witnesses, and too many logistical improbabilities discredited her.

  It was over in an hour. Jed was proclaimed guilty. The plea for leniency was heard and accepted, and a sentence of exile was issued. Jed couldn’t keep a
look of smugness of his face as he saw victory handed to him.

  “Back on the road guys,” he declared. “Time we left this labour camp and got our freedom back.” He looked at the group that had been his friends and saw none of them were moving to join him. He looked at the woman he had been sleeping with, but she was avoiding his eye. He nearly made an appeal to her to stick with him, but stopped as he was not convinced that he was going to get her name right. He saw that he was alone.

  “Well fuck the lot of you. Enjoy being slaves to a bunch of fucking inbred hicks.” He shrugged off the hands of the two farmers acting as guards, and stamped towards the gate that was in sight of their makeshift courtroom. He was followed out, advised that if he tried to return he would be shot. He gave no sign that he was listening, until close to the gate he stopped.

  “I want my fucking car. You shits can’t keep it.”

  The leaders of the trial looked at each other for a moment, unsure how to respond until Matthew made the decision. “Stay here where we can see you. I’ll get the car.”

  Everyone waited while he went to the shed and collected one of the cars. He noticed that the tank was running low, and decided that that was fair. He also noticed that a bag had been stowed partially under the passenger’s seat. Visible enough that it would eventually be noticed, but not made immediately obvious. He thought about dropping it out of the window, but the car was already moving, and he wasn’t convinced that he could do it unnoticed. He told himself instead that the bag was also fair and let it go. He handed over the car and watched a problem drive away.