by Ian Woodhead
Her hand automatically went to the top of her jacket, right where the jerky packet was. Aliza wished she hadn’t taken it now.
“The only drawback is having to experiment on their subjects.” He grinned. “I’ve heard they have a cage full of the Risen. He giggled at the sight of her shocked face.
“Only the roamers and us foragers know about the farm.”
Aliza took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Don’t worry, they’ve chained and de-fanged the fuckers, those things are no danger.”
She could see why they had kept it secret. Aliza watched Tim shake the roamer’s hand. He passed him a huge black key then padded over to the caravan.
“What do you think of our supplies, then, Aliza? Did it impress you?”
Of course, it had. She couldn’t believe how much gear they had managed to hoard. It also made her so angry. She’d spent months hiding and running for her and little Diane’s lives. Surviving on what scraps of food they could find in the abandoned homes. It stuck her as ironic that the society that they lived in before the outbreak turned most of the population into carnivorous cadavers had existed on restaurant food or takeaways. Cupboards stocked with tinned food were rare.
“Walking into your warehouse felt like going back in time to before this fucking nightmare happened.”
He nodded, “Yeah, I know what you mean. The only difference was the lack of lights, power, and fresh food. The first time I was roped into a forage was three months ago. I was so looking forward to tucking into a fresh banana.”
Aliza giggled.
“I didn’t know how long they were supposed to last. Hell, the only time I had salad was when me and my mates piled into the kebab shop after downing a few pints, and most of that got chucked onto the pavement.”
They were coming up to the entrance that led into the tower block. She watched the old guy insert the key into the lock. As far as Aliza could work out, there was no other way of getting into their sanctum. Christ knows what they would have to do if that key was lost.
“Andy, I’ve got a question for you.”
He nodded, “Fire away.”
Aliza paused, wondering if she ought to carry on. “Andy, have you ever considered slipping anything from the warehouse into your pocket?”
It was his turn to look shocked.
“Oh, fuck! Please tell me you haven’t lifted anything.”
She shook her head.
“When that Oliver said that he’d chuck anyone found grabbing gear, he meant it. He’s chucked two out already.” Andy looked down at his feet. “Including the girl who’d been chosen for me.” When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “They didn’t last long out there. The sound of her screams gave me nightmares for weeks.”
Aliza wanted to be sick. She also wanted to punch that Oliver right between the eyes then throw him outside. Andy’s revelation had shocked her rigid. She had always considered Oliver to be a bit of a toffee nosed tosser who enjoyed hearing his own voice and lived for rule making, but overall, a good man who had a difficult job. He had set himself up as a modern day Caesar and anyone who didn’t obey his rules was thrown to the lions.
For the first time since she had arrived at the bunker, Aliza feared for the life of her and her daughter.
The old man held the door open as the others filed through. His lifeless eyes found hers. She froze, feeling like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. Aliza felt the colour rushing to her face. He knew she had stolen something. Oh, fuck! As soon as she reached him, he would pull out a gun and order her to strip. Aliza turned away and stared at the back of Andy’s head, telling herself to get a fucking grip.
The lad turned around and offered her a reassuring smile. “We’re nearly home. You’re daughter will be wondering where you are.”
She nodded and cast a swift glance at the old man, relieved to find him staring somewhere else. “She’ll be fine, Diane’s a tough kid; she probably hasn’t even noticed that I’ve gone.”
“Andy, can you hold the door for me? I’d better see what’s taking Tim so long.”
The lad nodded and stood against the door as Henry ran over to the caravan. Aliza watched the others troop up the stairs. Their attitudes had altered dramatically now that they were out of the danger zone. She looked at Andy, wondering if she ought to leave him here.
“Thanks for staying,” he said.
Aliza nodded, well that was one decision taken out of her hands. “Henry’s eyes scare me,” she murmured.
“They seem as dead as those vile creatures roaming outside. When he looks at you, it feels like he’s staring right into your soul.”
“Jesus, that’s exactly it!”
He shrugged, "That’s how you looked, Aliza, when you were first brought in here.”
“I can’t imagine anybody insane enough who’d actually want to go back out into that nightmarish place.” She paused. “Still, I’m glad he does. What was he before the event? I guess he must have been in the armed forces or maybe a policeman.”
Andy gazed towards the caravan, “I heard he used to drive a bus.”
“Whatever he was, if it hadn’t been for him and his friend, me and my daughter would still be out there, probably dead by now.”
She’d never forget the terror that chilled her bones when Aliza heard those lumbering footsteps above her head as she and her daughter cowered in the dark cellar. She had been in the kitchen looking through the cupboards for anything worth eating when she just sensed the presence of another body. She had spun around but hadn’t seen anybody there. After six months of running from the predators, Aliza had developed a feeling of knowing when something was close. It had to be malevolent; she hadn’t seen another living person for months.
Aliza had rushed into the cellar and just hoped that whatever was up there had not had time to catch her scent. Aliza began to moan when she heard the sound of boot steps descending. It had to be a sprinter. Oh Christ! Aliza had closed her eyes and prayed that it would be quick.
Andy sighed, pulling the girl out of her thoughts. “Henry is the only roamer we have left now. The one who brought you in, Jack, died on their last trip outside.”
She had not been expecting that.
“Oh, Jesus. How did it happen?”
Andy shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that he and Henry were ambushed, Henry was lucky to survive and he still was able to bring in two more survivors.”
Somewhere in the darkness, a door slammed.
“Looks like they’re coming back, keep what I’ve just said under your hat.”
Aliza then gasped when an inhuman scream blasted out from the darkness.
Chapter Three
Ernest couldn’t decide which had upset him the most. The fact that he must have miscounted or that smug grin plastered across Darren’s face.
“What? So, you think this is funny do you?” he snapped.
His lad didn’t have an ounce of sympathy in his bones. Even since he was young, the misbegotten son of theirs found humour in other folk’s hardship and misfortune. Christ knows where he’d got that from, he had never been like that and his mother definitely had not. There had been many times when he wondered if Darren was actually his. There had been a couple of rumours that his darling wife had not been altogether chaste when Ernest had been in prison. His wife had been a pretty young girl and there was more than one man on the Breakspear estate that had held a candle for her before she was married.
“Give over, Ernest. Of course he’s your son. He’s the spit of you.”
He glared at Darren, “More like an evil twin.”
There was no point in counting the tins again. They were there in front of him, sitting on the shelf. Tins of chocolate pudding, his favourite dish in the world, and now he only had six left.
Somebody was messing with his head; there should have been a full shelf of the bastards. Christ! Ernest had only checked them a couple of days ago. Could anybody else have gotten in here?
He felt his heart begin to speed up at the thought of having to share this store with somebody else.
He ran to the edge of the aisle and climbed onto one of the checkouts. The view of the store spread out in front of him, the dim light made it difficult to seen much of anything, but he was sure that if anyone else was in here, he’d see them move about. After a couple of minutes of staring into the darkness, he climbed back down.
No, of course there wasn’t anyone else here. He and Darren were the only folk in here. Ernest padded back over to the aisle. He picked up a single tin and dropped it into the trolley.
“I bet this is another one of your little jokes, that’s why you’re giggling.” He glared at the football. Ernest did notice that the arm that he’d fixed had yet to fall off. Darren had kept quiet about that. He hated knowing that his old man was smarter than he was. “So, come on, fess up, where’ve you hidden my chocolate puddings?”
The collection of taped together objects stayed silent.
“So, it’s like that, is it?” Ernest pushed the trolley towards the back of the store. “I just don’t understand you; I mean, I offered you a beer. Is it my fault that you refused it?”
He stopped next to one of the freezer doors. “It is you that’s moved them somewhere? Nobody else is here.” Ernest laughed. “You really are a bit thick, lad. I mean, you never were the sharpest tool in the box, but this is just beyond idiocy. There’s nobody else in the supermarket, it had to be you.”
He stood back and put one hand across his nose and mouth, and then he opened the door. Even with nose protected, the blast of foul air that escaped almost knocked him off his feet. He picked Darren up and threw him into the freezer before closing the door.
“Ha! How do you like those apples? You can stay in there while I sort out our guest outside. That should keep you out of mischief.”
Ernest hurried away from the frozen section before he could change his mind. It was a cruel thing to do, but it was about time that the lad learned a bit of respect.
“And I ain’t fixing your other arm Darren when that falls off, because we both know that it will.” Ernest turned onto the entertainment aisle, feeling more than a little stupid for shouting that out. There was no way Darren would have heard that.
After a couple of hours, the lad will be screaming to be let out of there. Darren would be sure to tell Ernest where he’d put his chocolate puddings. He grabbed a fresh pair of washing up gloves on his way past; after a moment’s hesitation, he also picked up another shovel, and then he giggled.
“You dumb bastard, how the hell can Darren help? You’ve put the lad into the freezer.”
Ernest put the shovel back and padded through the doors into the warehouse. He was not looking forward to the clean up job. Going anywhere near those filthy things brought back way too many bad memories.
The brain freezing mayhem that he had witnessed escaping from the Breakspear estate repeated countless times as the infection seemed to follow him as he darted from one town to another. The nightmare for Ernest only stopped when he found a town already gripped in the infection’s putrid embrace.
He had passed by the shuttered store on his way into the town. Ernest had made a mental note to check the place out if he came back this way. Just over an hour later, Ernest was fleeing back here from the town’s dead population. It took him ten seconds to realise that he could live inside that store almost indefinitely.
As per habit, Ernest glanced through the window set into the locked door. He tried the handle and found that it was still locked. He sighed.
“Of course it’s still locked, you silly old sod. What did you expect?”
He turned away and padded towards the entrance to the delivery yard. He had expected it to be open. Ernest saw a mental picture of himself looking through that window but on the other side of the door. Now, he knew that he had lost it; he had never been through that bloody door.
Before he pushed through the plastic curtains, Ernest unwrapped the gloves and placed one on each hand. He had no intention of touching any of that dead thing, but there was no harm in taking every precaution. He put his hands out in front of him and grinned. If only Darren could see him with these on, he’d laugh his head off. They were pink. No doubt the lad would reel off a dozen derisory statements regarding his old man’s current confusion regarding his gender. He turned his head, almost expecting the lad’s trolley to be there behind him.
“Backs to the wall, lads!”
That used to be one of his favourite sayings. Ernest once remembered the boy’s form teacher calling the police because Darren had hospitalised another pupil who, in Darren’s words, had deserved a good kicking as he looked a bit like a queerboy. His only son had never been one for subtlety. He wiped his rubber-encased hand across his face, surprised to find the material wet with his tears.
“What are you crying for, Ernest?” he muttered. “You’ve only put him in the freezer.”
He picked up the shovel; he also grabbed his metal bar and stepped through the curtains and into the starlit night.
“Second outing in one day, Ernest? Ain’t you the brave soldier?” He spun around and glared at those plastic curtains.
Had Darren followed him? That sounded just the type of spiteful remark that he would mutter.
“Come on, old man. He’s still in the freezer. Your mind is just fooling with you.” He put his tools down on the floor and padded across towards the skip.
He would put the body and the stuff that had leaked out of it in there; it seemed like the safest choice. There was a wheelbarrow propped up against the wall, behind the skip. That would be just perfect to get the thing inside. Ernest pushed it across to the sprawled body, and then picked up the shovel.
“I still don’t know how you got in here, chum, but it’s the worst mistake you’ve ever made. Well, after getting infected that is.”
Ernest lifted the shovel above his head, turned the blade on its edge and slammed the metal into the thing’s torso. He grunted, then repeated the action, effectively cutting the corpse in two. He staggered when the stench from its insides made his eyes water.
“Did you not think of having a bath before you left the house?”
Ernest shovelled up both pieces and dropped the parts into the wheelbarrow; despite this job being so fucking gross, he was actually enjoying the exertion. It made a change from spending his days pushing Darren’s trolley up and down the aisles and arguing with the obnoxious boy.
After that, it was just a simple matter of pushing the wheelbarrow up to the skip’s opening and dumping the pieces in. After propping the wheelbarrow back up, he glanced down at the black stains where he had chopped the corpse in half. A few days of rain ought to sort that out.
That reminded him, what was he going to do without pure water? He didn’t know how long he’d be able to carry on drinking the canned beverages.
“God, what I’d do for a nice hot cup of tea.”
He gave the stars one final glance before going back into the store. This time he bypassed the locked door, just thinking about what was beyond that door made his flesh creep.
Darren’s laughter seemed to echo around the store. Ernest ran over to the freezer section wondering how the hell he could have gotten out of there. He stopped in front of the glass door and shook his head in confusion, “I heard you, lad. I know I did.” He pulled the door open, making sure he held his breath as he did so. Ernest placed him back into his trolley and wheeled him away.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re laughing at now?” Ernest then noticed that his other arm had dropped off.
”Ha! Look at that, Darren. You must have dropped it in the freezer cabinet.”
He stopped the trolley before they reached the baking section and leaned closer to the football. Ernest adjusted the wig and checked to ensure that the string securing the football to Darren’s family-sized cereal box torso still hadn’t unravelled. His time in the freezer had given the lad a faint odour of old cabbag
e.
“Okay, you irritating pain in the arse, you’ve got me; just what are you finding so fucking hilarious?”
Ernest then looked into the bottom of the shopping trolley and saw the tin of chocolate pudding that he’d dropped in there earlier.
“Oh, you horrible, nasty bastard!” he screamed.
He now knew exactly what the fucker had done. Ernest gazed at the ceiling. “You’ve put them up there. You’ve put all my chocolate puddings in the offices.”
Ernest slammed his hands against the shopping trolley’s handle, the trolley careened down the aisle.
“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” He stormed away, towards the security office where he slept. Darren could go fuck himself. There was no way he’d go up there to collect his puddings. He would rather do without. Ernest could learn to like treacle pudding instead; there were plenty of those on the shelf. He was not going to let that fucker get the better of him.
“No way,” he muttered.
Ernest pulled open the door to the security office with the faint sound of Darren’s howls of laughter running into both ears.
Chapter Four
Noah Livingston wiped the drool off his chin. This was so unfair, just a frail wall separated him from his food, and there was fuck all he could do about it. The sound of the female’s heartbeat combined with the slightly faster sound of her kid’s heart was driving him fucking bat-shit.
“For crying out loud! Will you come away from that bloody wall?”
He pulled his ear off the vile coloured wallpaper and sat down on the lumpy mattress next to his companion.
“Try to think of something else, Noah. Stop torturing yourself.”
He glared at the taller man, the stern expression on his ebony, full-fleshed features told Noah to calm the fuck down, but Abel’s almost black eyes told a different story.
“Why can’t we just take them all now? Come on, Abel. We could empty this refuge of theirs in a matter of minutes. You know that they wouldn’t have a chance.” He moved closer to the man, “Think about all that warm blood soaked flesh just begging to be ripped apart and consumed.”