The Fall Series (Book 3): The Fence Walker

by Cross, Stephen

  The tree cover broke, and they were on a short field. The edge of the hill ended in a stone cliff that dropped to green patchwork fields and woods. Segregated drystone walls and hedges split the landscape like skin’s cell walls under a microscope. The sea glittered blue; sparkling diamonds of sunlight traversing and bouncing across its distant surface like fireflies.

  “There it is,” said Adam.

  The three stood at the top of the cliff. The beach below was wedged on both sides by strong headlands, book-standing the wide horseshoe cove. To the east was a town with its roads and buildings crawling from the bottom of the beach, round and up the headland. Empty fields and sand dunes separated the holiday park by about a mile, on the west of the cove. Tiny boxes, the circuit boards of hundreds of holiday chalets. A forest separated the holiday park from the headland the group stood on.

  “Come on!” said Adam, now on the ground, tugging at Harriet’s hand. “This way!”

  They made their way down the hill through winding wood paths, crossing single lane tarmac roads, following them for a turn, cutting across fields. Adam knew his way. He had been coming here with his Dad since the divorce when he had been about four. Whenever Dad got back from deployment, this was where they came. Harriet could tell by the way his face lit up as he described the surrounding landmarks, the excitement with which he related old tales of the escapades he and his Dad shared, that he loved this land; or more likely, had loved the times he spent here with his Dad. Each story, each smile, from the young boy was like a dagger to her heart.

  Un-husbanded cows stared on placidly as they crossed a field. Livestock wandered freely, although their numbers seemed greatly diminished; carcasses with the innards ripped out were common to find. Whether the victims of the undead or roaming packs of dogs, Harriet neither knew or cared.

  They emerged from a copse of trees onto a two-lane carriageway. It rose to a gentle turn ahead, bordered on each side by the greenery of fields and trees.

  “It’s about two miles up that way,” said Adam. “Won’t be long now.”

  “Let’s get some lunch, big man,” said Arthur. “We can make the final assault on a full stomach.”

  “Let’s go to the stables,” said Adam pointing up ahead. Just before the bend in the road there as a break in the trees. A sign, “McCauley Riding and Livery,” jutted out from behind overhanging tree branches.

  “I don’t know,” said Harriet as they got closer. “Looks like there’s a lot of hiding places.”

  Just back from the road was a small square paddock, beyond which were the stables. All empty. The paddock had sprouted in flamboyant green; no more horse’s hooves to stomp down the vegetation.

  Harriet, though, saw dark corners, the unknown.

  “Harriet may be right,” said Arthur as they stopped opposite the building.

  “Aw, come on,” said Adam. “I used to come here. Would be nice to…” he paused.

  Harriet heard it too. A rumble in the background, rising in pitch, before falling, only to rise again. Multiple frequencies. Getting louder.

  “Cars,” said Harriet.

  Without words, the three of them sprinted off the road, into the riding school. A cursory look at the nearest stable revealed no nasties. They crammed in and pulled the door closed.

  They ducked under the stable door. The noise got louder. The mechanics of the world, once such a familiar sound, now seemed dirty, alien, an invader to the peace of nature.

  She raised her head to peer over the top of the stable door. She kept still, slowing her breathing.

  A truck raced passed. Black. Flat-bed, the type builders used to have. Another followed, then another. Harriet’s heart raced. She was terrified, but why? What of? People?

  The engine hum disappeared into the distance.

  “They’re from the holiday camp!” said Adam, his face bright with excitement.

  “We don’t know that,” said Arthur, measuring his tone. He glanced at Harriet.

  “Let’s just be careful,” said Harriet. “We don’t know who they are.”

  “They must’ve come from the holiday park,” said Adam. “Come on, where else did they come from? My Dad might’ve been in one of them. He’ll probably be in charge.”

  “Ok,” said Harriet. “Let’s get our lunch first.”

  “I think we should go now,” he said.

  “Lunch, young man!” said Arthur, smiling.

  “Ok,” he said, his impatience crawling off him.

  “Not here though,” said Harriet looking around the pokey, dark stable. “Anywhere else away from the road?”

  “Yeah, there’s the storeroom round the back.”

  He led them to a large wooden barn. It was dark with age and weather. Planks missing in several places. All was quiet. The trees waved gently in the summer wind. Crickets, birds, unknown rustling. All the same as it used to be.

  Something was wrong.

  Adam marched into the barn.

  “Wait!” she shouted.

  “Why, there’s nothing-”

  His words cut off abruptly. His flock of blonde hair disappeared as he dropped through the floor. He screamed.

  “Adam!” shouted Harriet. She ran towards the barn, Arthur grabbed her.

  “Wait,” he said. “Slowly,” he pointed to the floor of the barn.

  Floorboards black and green with damp and mildew.

  “Adam,” shouted Arthur, “are you ok?”

  “I’ve hurt my leg,” came his distant shout. “It’s full of water.”

  Harriet and Arthur moved carefully into the barn. A large hole in the ground a few feet ahead of them. Splintered planks gaped to reveal darkness below. Light glinted, something moving. A pool. The smell of decay.

  They edged to the broken planks, testing the surrounding wood as they went.

  “Adam?” said Harriet.

  His face appeared a few feet below. Harriet let out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m ok. I don't think it’s anything serious,” said Adam. “Here,” he passed up his crossbow.

  Harriet and Arthur crouched down, and Harriet reached into the hole. She moved slowly, the soft planks giving slightly under her weight. She grabbed the crossbow.

  “My bag, it’s wet,” said Adam, passing up his backpack.

  Arthur took it.

  “You next, young man,” said Arthur holding out his hands.

  Adam paused. “Wait… there’s something…” He let out a scream, and disappeared, running, pushing through the dirty chest deep water.

  “Adam!” shouted Harriet.

  Another figure moved into the frame of broken planks. It paused and looked up, its jaw clicking quickly. A riding helmet balanced precariously on its head. Its skin was sallow and grey, rotten and floating, more of a wet slime than skin. It hissed, then continued after Adam.

  Harriet leaped through the hole. She landed in the waist-deep water, the light pulled from around her as if sucked away. The water was cold, it instantly tugged through her skin to her bones. The breath shot from her in a gasp. There was pain, but she ignored it; not consciously, it was just down the list of things she had to attend to. The first on the list was finding Adam.

  Moans and clicks echoed around the room. Darkness in each direction, Harriet couldn’t see where the room ended. The swishing of water, like the swishing of a swimming pool, but without the children’s cries of joy.

  Adam had gone that way… or was it this?

  “Adam!” she shouted.

  Moans and cries answered her. She held up her baseball bat, spinning on the spot, ready to strike. Impossible to tell where the noise was coming from.

  A shape beside her. It was Arthur.

  “Where is he?” she said.

  “I don’t know, you go that way.” He moved off in the opposite direction, the dark pulling him in like an enveloping cape.

  Harriet waded through the water. She wanted to shout for Adam again, but her voice came out in a whisper, “Adam, where are you?”
/>
  Nothing.

  Her foot hit something firm. She kicked it again, no give, it was solid. Not a body.

  A scream cut through the thick black like a razor. Harriet turned towards it.

  “Here, I’m here!” It was Adam.

  Harriet rushed towards the sounds, correcting her balance as her feet bumped against various unknown terrors under the water. “Adam, keep shouting.”

  “Here, they’re here, hurry!”

  A shock of blonde hair. Covered again by darkness as something moved to block Harriet's view.

  “Here you son of a bitch, I’m here!” she shouted.

  Her eyes, now adjusting to the light. The black something turned, its face a dark grey. Teeth visible, sucking in what little light there was and spitting out a festering grin. Open, closed, chattering. It raised its arms and came for her.

  Harriet swung her baseball bat. “Fuck you!”

  She connected hard, and the head of the zombie snapped back with a crack. She lost her footing, and everything was black and cold. She opened her mouth, and water poured in. Iron and stale, like a terrible soup of rotten body parts. She flung her arms trying to find something to grab, trying to swim. She lost her baseball bat.

  An arm wrapped around her chest, and she was lifted out of the water. She spat and coughed.

  “Come on,” said Arthur, one arm around Harriet, the other reaching out for Adam. Adam took it, and Arthur hoisted him onto his shoulders.

  “Here,” he said to Harriet passing her his sledgehammer. “They’re coming.”

  The hole in the floor glowed yards away like a ragged moon. With its light, she saw three zombies approach. Dripping specimens covered in moss and mildew and fungus. Hardly any sign left that they used to be human.

  She swung for the first, and its head impacted in a red mess.

  Their movement was slowed by the water. Harriet took care of the other two just as quickly. As long as you saw them coming, she thought to herself.

  Standing under the hole, Arthur pushed Adam up through the gap. He clambered out, and Arthur helped Harriet up, lifting her as if she was only a child herself. Harriet and Adam then helped Arthur out.

  They scurried out of the barn, moving tentatively, wary of any more rotten floorboards, until they were on the warm grass outside.

  Adam snuggled himself into Harriet as they lay for a few minutes, catching their breath.

  “Everyone ok?” said Harriet.

  “I am now,” said Arthur, already smiling.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Harriet.

  They walked back to the road still dripping, but the sun was warm, and they would be dry soon. Harriet didn’t want to wait. She wanted to move towards a destination. No more staying still.

  The road rumbled under her feet.

  The sound of vehicles again.

  They stared down the road, towards the sound.

  “What do you think?” said Harriet.

  “Let’s try our chances, can’t be worse than the barn…” said Arthur. “Anyway, this is why we’re doing this, right, to find people?”

  “And my Dad,” said Adam, his hand tight within Harriet’s.

  “Ok,” said Harriet.

  They stood still in the road, waiting.

  Three flatbed 4X4’s roared around the corner. They slowed, until stopping twenty feet away. Two figures emerged from each side, both with motorcycle helmets on. Other inquisitive heads, also encased in helmets, appeared from the back of the trucks. Tens of eyes on them. Silent, watching.

  The small figure took off its helmet.

  A small, dark-skinned woman, Indian, maybe.

  “You guys ok?” she said.

  “We’re looking for my Dad,” said Adam.

  “Is that so?” said the woman.

  “It is,” said Arthur. “We’re going to Tulloch Bay holiday park. Looking for the young man’s Dad, as he says.”

  The other figure took off his helmet. A man somewhere in his thirties. Rough around the edges, the obligatory beard.

  The two talked for a moment.

  “You’re in luck,” said the man. “That’s where we’re from. You want a lift?”

  Chapter 5

  November, 2003

  “Hey, girly man!”

  Oliver Dalby shrank a little more inside. His heart began to beat, and his skin tingled. He knew he was turning red, but there was nothing he could do, was there? He went red at the smallest slight. His skin, a traitor, would light up like a beacon, ‘here I am, come and get me,’ he was never allowed to hide.

  “Come here girly man,” said Dave.

  The nearest kids in the playground were turning to the commotion - who was shouting? What was happening, was there going to be a fight? These were the sort of things that occupied the minds of teenagers at school. Dalby hated them for it. Couldn’t they see how mindless and pointless it all was? Leave people to do what they want to do, to be how they want to be. Leave me.

  Dalby turned slowly. There he was, Dave, with William and Phil, his two lackeys.

  “Looking a bit red there mate, you embarrassed about something? You wet yourself or something?”

  Phil laughed, “Reckon you’ve pissed your pants? Shit yerself?”

  “Shit pants,” said William.

  The three of them laughed.

  Could only be a few minutes until the bell. He had thought it safe to walk this way. Usually, they hung out in the main playground. Not today though.

  He tried to smile, “No, I haven’t shit myself,” he said. His voice was shaking, He heard it as he spoke. Why couldn’t he talk with confidence, why couldn’t he voice his disdain towards the three in front of him?

  Because he was scared. They were bigger. They weren’t skinny, covered in spots with blushing red skin.

  “He looks scared,” said Phil.

  A small crowd was gathering. Don’t let it happen again, thought Dalby.

  “Are you scared?” said Dave.

  Dalby shook his head.

  “I think you are. Why don’t you say something? If you’re not scared why don’t you say so?”

  He wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. Something said to him that he had to maintain face, whatever face he could maintain.

  “Come on, tell us you aren’t scared,” said William.

  They knew exactly what to do.

  Dalby opened his mouth and forced his voice out, “I’m not scared.”

  It squeaked. Even he was disgusted at himself.

  The three of them burst out laughing.

  “I’m not scared,” said Dave, mimicking with a high pitched squeak, like a cartoon mouse. “I’m the big strong man, ohhhh, look at me!” He flexed his biceps.

  Others started to laugh. Other kids from his class. Huddled groups, conspiratorial whispers. Laughter. The girls would laugh, and the boys would sneer. Then they would ignore him.

  “You not scared big man?” said Dave. He reached forward and pushed Dalby. Just gently, just enough for him to stumble back.

  Don’t let it happen, please, not again.

  “What’s wrong Dalby? Thought you weren’t scared?”

  Another gentle push.

  The crowd; smirks and laugher on most of the faces. Those who weren’t smiling held looks of pity instead. Just as bad, maybe worse. Like a mouse in a trap, something pathetic to be pitied.

  “You gonna piss yourself again then, Dalby?”

  His stomach was turning. His hands were shaking. There was a twitch just above his lip. He knew he was bright red. He felt his groin clench. Not again. Please.

  “Old yellow pants,” said Phil, sniggering. His face, small and rat-like, curly brown hair. Freckles. Dalby dreamed of smashing it apart, putting his fist right through that horrible ratty grin.

  “You’re a fucking pussy,” said Dave. “Look at you. You're going to piss yourself again aren't you?”

  Dalby closed his eyes. Within his mind, he retreated to a dark room. He closed the doors and pul
led the curtains. He sat down in the middle of the room. It was empty, cold, but it was dark - he couldn’t see anyone and no one could see him. No one knew who he was, and no one cared. He relaxed, he forgot about the world, the terrible cold world.

  He felt his bladder go. Warmth spread between his legs, down the inside of his trousers. The laughter and triumphant shouts hardly reached him. Words from another planet, ‘disgusting,’ ‘piss pants,’ ‘the piss man,’ ‘make me sick.’

  A shove. Dalby allowed himself to fall to the ground, where he rolled into a ball, lying in his own urine.

  The bell rang.

  When he opened his eyes, everyone was gone. Miss Abney was standing above him. “What are you doing down there? Are you well? Stand up. You’ve wet yourself? Why didn’t you go to the bathroom?”

  He pulled himself up from the ground, his head down. “Sorry miss.”

  Miss Abney had her hands on her hips. She was shaking her head. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Do you have any other trousers?”

  “I have my PE shorts miss.”

  “They’ll have to do. You can wear them for the rest of the day. Come on.”

  She led him to the bathroom.

  Dalby went inside and took his wet trousers off. He put them in his bag, next to his PE kit. He took out his small blue shorts and pulled them on over his thin white legs.

  He looked in the mirror. His face was still red, his cheeks flushed in a bright red. His spots, concentrated around his chin and cheeks, burnt fiercely in the heat of his blush.

  He wanted to cry, but what was the point? That’s what they would want, for him to cry. He had already pissed himself, he wasn’t going to give them that final satisfaction.

  Chapter 6

  Ellie watched as Jack scurried around the chalet, filling Annie’s school bag with pens, paper, and various other things she would need for the coming day. It all seemed so normal. This is what people in the suburbs used to do. She looked at her cup of coffee on the table in front of her. It steamed slowly, the whirls of moisture rising gently into the air with the same nonchalance and security of the residents of Tulloch Bay. No risk of your breakfast being ruined by a zombie. No crazy people to interfere with your tent in the middle of the night; the threat of death had been removed, it seemed. Security, another fortress, but smaller and simpler than the facade of civilization. This one was provided by the Fence, and by the coming together of the residents.