The Fall Series (Book 3): The Fence Walker

by Cross, Stephen

  “Get the wood and fuel from the back of the truck. We’ll get a fire going, then we’ll keep watch.”

  “Hello?” said Lucy. “How do we start a fire in this?”

  He walked to the back of the truck. Soaking wet wooden poles. A few canisters of petrol. He had a Zippo lighter in his pocket.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Then what’s the point of us being here?” said Mark.

  “Look,” said Andy, his patience wavering, “We can-” he stopped. At the edge of the car park was a bin. The old plastic types with a lid. He ran over, being careful not to slip in the mud.

  He peered in the bin. It stank. Unidentifiable plastics and paper, interspersed with colorful mold. But it was dry under the lid.

  “Over here,” he shouted, calling the other two over.

  Hands in their pockets, heads down, they walked over.

  “We can get it started in there and… What is it?”

  Lucy had pulled her hood back, she was staring past Andy, down to the beach beyond. “What the fuck…”

  Andy turned around. He wiped water from his forehead and eyes, focusing on the beach below. It stretched like a dark orange peel for a few miles into grey nothingness, the western headland merely a lurking shape in the distance. He saw white breakers, from this distance just peaceful stains across the grey of the sea.

  Except they were broken by something. Tiny white dots - the water breaking around what looked like hundreds of black pillars rising out of the sea. Andy walked forward, climbing over the barrier until he was right on the edge of the cliff as if the extra few feet would give him clarity.

  The pillars were moving, slowly, but making steady ground. Emerging from the sea as one united force. As an army. That’s what they were.

  Andy felt his stomach turn, struck with urgency, panic.

  “They’re coming,” he said, quietly.

  “What?” said Mark.

  “Come on, we have to get back, we have to warn them!”

  One last glance. How many? Hundreds? Thousands? Impossible to tell. Like a march of unordered ants, shaken from their nest, the undead swarmed over the beach, towards the Fence.

  Jack shook the aluminum pole. It rattled, but the panel held, although one withering rope fell loose. He moved to tighten the line, then paused. It looked like it would snap.

  It had seemed like a real boon when the Runners had turned up with tens of thick sheets of aluminum panels to use them for the fence. Drill holes in them, attach them to poles. It had, however, only taken a few months for the weather combined with the sharp edges of the panels to wither the ropes. Jack felt stupid. He should have realized this would happen. Any fucking moron could have worked out what would have happened. The others didn’t give a damn, they probably knew, but figured that it would be Jack who took the grief for it. There were no hordes anymore, so it didn’t matter. Fish were more important, so the boats got the chains. That’s how it went. Leave it to Jack to fix his own fuck up.

  “We got enough rope to fix this lot?” shouted Mac, his words whipped up and away in the howling winds. He spat out a mouthful of sand, the air thick with it.

  “It doesn’t fucking matter even if we do,” said Jack. “It’ll be the same in a few weeks.”

  This was the fourth loose panel they had found, but not the worst. The first had lost two ropes entirely and was hanging with a two-foot gap. All it took was one wandering zombie, and the whole camp was compromised.

  “Come on,” said Jack, “let’s get that first panel sorted.”

  Mac didn’t say anything but nodded slightly.

  Jack began the heavy journey back to the first panel, about twenty minutes back to the east end of the fence. The wet sand made any distance seem like a mile.

  A shout in the wind. It was Mac. Jack turned to see the big idiot hadn’t followed him, but was staring out the gap in the fence. What was wrong with him now?

  “What is it?” said Jack.

  “Come look at this,” shouted Mac.

  “What is it?”

  “Come and look you fucking idiot! Fuck’s sake, get here now.”

  Jack hesitated. His first emotion was anger. People don’t talk to him like that. The second was fear; people don’t talk to him like that. He ran back towards Mac as fast as he could.

  “Look through there, tell me what you see,” said Mac. He had grabbed Jack by the shoulder, his hands digging painfully into his shoulder through the thick coat and jumper Jack wore.

  Jack looked through the thin gap between the panel and the pole. It was low tide; half a mile of hard and gentle undulating sand led to the grey and white sea.

  There was something else.

  Jack struggled to focus through the rain, mist, and blowing sand. If they weren’t moving, he wouldn’t have seen them. Dark shapes, grey and indistinct, bobbing as they walked, swerving to the left and right, like wobbling viruses under a microscope.

  Viruses.

  Jack glanced at Mac, seeing the same fear in his eyes.

  One last look. How many? Hard to tell, but they covered the beach, as far as he could see. Hundreds, thousands maybe.

  “Holy fuck,” said Jack.

  “Nothing holy about them. We have to go,” said Mac, “tie up that fence.”

  “Shit!” shouted Jack. A picture of Annie and her little smiling face burst to the forefront of his mind.

  “Come on,” said Mac, “we ain’t got long.”

  Jack shook himself free of Mac’s grip. “We have to get out of here.”

  “What?”

  “The Fence is gone, you know that, you’ve been out here every day with me.”

  “No, Jack, I’m not having this. I’ve put up with your crap for weeks now, you ain’t running now. We need to fix that hole, or they going to get in here!”

  “You stupid bastard,” shouted Jack, grabbing Mac by the shoulders, “You’ve seen it, the Fence is an illusion - it’ll keep out a few, but not that many. They’ll plow through like a battleship! We have to get what we can and get the fuck out of here. We try to fix that Fence, and by the time we get back to warn anyone, it’s too late.”

  Mac was shaking his head. “I’ve heard about you, Jack. They say you’re a runner, a coward. You’re not getting away with it this time, we’re fixing that Fence!”

  He was wasting time. Jack pushed Mac, who stumbled and hit the Fence. The panel rattled.

  Jack turned and ran up the sand dune. Halfway up he glanced behind him to see Mac following him, stumbling in the heavy wet sand, using his hands to try and pull himself up.

  “You coward!” shouted Mac.

  He would be better not shouting, thought Jack. Shouting was using up his energy.

  With little effort, Jack put distance between himself and Mac. Up and down the sand dunes, through the paths in the marrow grass he knew so well. The shortcuts and rabbit runs, avoiding the unnecessary dips and rises.

  Reaching the perimeter of the camp, the first fence, through a little alley, the sand under his feet turned to tarmac. He bound out onto one of the main roads and turned left, charging towards the leisure center and the school.

  Someone up ahead, it was Peter and Mary.

  Peter’s face changed from a smile to a frown as Jack ran towards them, clear he had no intention of stopping.

  “Hey Jack, where’s the fire?” said Peter.

  No words, conserve energy. One second could be the difference between life and death.

  “What’s going on, Jack?” said Peter as Jack drew level, before running past. No words. No eye contact, just keep going.

  “Jack,” shouted Peter from behind. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

  They were in the past now, behind him. His feet splashed in the forming puddles as he ran, as fast as he could, to the school.

  Most of the children were crying. The teachers were doing the best they could to comfort them, but there was only so many arms to give hugs. The older ones, a handful of teenagers, after the
ir initial uncertainty, had grouped together.

  “Open the doors Harriet!” said Liam, a tall fourteen-year-old with the beginnings of a small mustache.

  Harriet shook her head. She was standing in front of the door, with Adam standing beside her. Jenny had slunk off to the side. Harriet looked for her; she was holding four-year-old Meredith in her arms, a delicate little girl, who was making up for her stick-like frame with loud howls, calling for mummy. Harriet’s eyes met Jenny’s for a second, but Jenny quickly turned away, back to Meredith, hugging her tightly, whispering platitudes into her ear.

  “Open it!” shouted Seb, a twelve-year-old with dark hair and dark features. One of Adam’s friends. “You cant keep us here, you’ve got no right!”

  “She has, Seb,” said Adam, “Let’s just wait.”

  The shouts from outside intensified. Harriet could just open the doors, couldn’t she? Why was it up to her to keep the children in here? Surely no one outside would hurt the kids?

  What if the zombies were there though…?

  A noise, a rhythm, broke her thoughts. The combined chant of young voices, defiant and angry. “Open it! Open it! Open it!”

  Jack heard the crowd before he saw it. Like angry spectators at a football match after the ref had made a bad call. A hundred people or so in the central car park by the sports hall, arguing, sporadic fights and scuffles.

  Jack quickly scanned the crowd for the undead. Had they got in already, was he too late?

  He saw none. This was just people, doing what they do, fighting. He didn’t care what they were fighting about; whatever had driven them to punch each other held no interest for Jack.

  He ran around the outside of the crowd, dodging bodies. A woman was ejected from the group and hit her head against a post. She fell to the ground like a dead weight. Jack continued to the sports hall, doing his best to avoid contact with anyone.

  He pushed at the sports hall door. It didn’t move.

  He pushed again. It rattled but didn’t move. It was locked.

  Jack banged on the door. “Annie! Annie!”

  He pushed his ear against the door; shrill cries of children lost in fear and confusion.

  They were trapped. Jack looked around for something to break the door open with. A fire extinguisher hung on a nearby wall. He pulled at it, it didn’t budge, he panicked for a moment, pulled again, he had it.

  He held the fire extinguisher high and smashed it against the door. Once, twice, three times.

  “What’re you doing?”

  Jack looked up to see two men standing by the door leading to the car park. One had a trail of blood on his forehead. He recognized one of them vaguely, maybe one of the Fishers.

  “The kids are trapped in there,” said Jack.

  “What?” the men ran towards Jack. “My son’s in there.”

  The men joined Jack.

  The door banged, and Harriet found herself thrown forward, into the arms of the chanting group of teenagers. Skinny arms grabbed her and flung her to the floor. She covered her head as kicks landed on her stomach.

  “Get off her!” That was Adam. Stop it, Adam, she thought, they’ll go after you next. “Leave her!”

  The kicks stopped. Harriet felt a hand on her, pulling her arms away from her head. It was Adam.

  “Harriet, are you ok?”

  “I’m good, Adam, I’m ok.”

  Adam guided her to the side of the hall, away from the crowds of crying and baying children.

  A cheer went up as the doors opened.

  Three men burst in. She recognized the one at the front, it was that crazy Fence guy, Jack. He was shouting something - ‘Annie.’ His daughter was Annie. Little Annie who liked coloring in.

  Their eyes met, just for a second.

  “Annie!” he shouted again, running against the stream of children as they pushed out the door.

  Another man entered; one Harriet didn’t recognize. Stocky, blood on his forehead. “Who locked these fucking doors? Who fucking locked them?” he shouted, his eyes scanning the stream of people. His eyes met Jenny’s, carrying Meredith towards the open door. He grabbed Jenny by the arm, her face twisting in surprise, not pain. The shock that someone would dare to grab her. Even in this world, still believing that she had a right to live without confrontation.

  “Was it you? Who fucking locked the doors?”

  Jenny’s arm shot out like it had been released from a spring, pointing directly at Harriet. The man, fire in his eyes, stared at Harriet. He pushed his way to her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, locking my kids in here?”

  Adam wrapped his arms around Harriet’s neck. His fast breaths echoing in her ears, warm and urgent.

  A young boy appeared next to the man - “Dad!” He grabbed the man’s arm. “That stupid bitch locked us in,” said the boy. This morning she had been Harriet, helping him with his maths, working through basic algebra that she barely understood herself. They had laughed about it. Now she was that stupid bitch.

  The man shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. He pulled his son towards the door.

  Jack pushed through the crowds of screaming and crying children. The sound of scraping chairs and table legs augmented the chaos. He tripped and nearly fell over the leg of a fallen chair.

  “Annie!” he shouted, snapping his head from left to right. “Annie!” He knew exactly where her seat was and had told the teachers not to let her move. He had been back a few times to test them. His surprise visits.

  That knowledge was useless now though. No resemblance of the large classroom survived.

  A shock of blonde hair in the mass of children surrounding him.

  “Annie!” he shouted as loud as he could.

  “Daddy?”

  There she was. Jack pushed through the children and grabbed at Annie.

  “Daddy!” she was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. He grabbed her in his arms, held her tight. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Jack forced his way back towards the door of the sports hall. Wading through the children was like wading through a strong tide; pulled in all directions but the one he wanted to go.

  A woman lay at the side of the sports hall, a boy hugging her. She was too young to be the boy’s mum. There was a lot of that; ad-hoc adoptions. He squeezed Annie again, glad she was his.

  He pushed through the door into the corridor. The children scattered, traumatized a second time by the riot that met their exit. Shattered glass. Bleeding men and women stumbling and sitting on the floor. The crunch of fists on faces. Incoherent shouts of random violence and cries of pain.

  Jack turned and ran the other way, towards what used to be the spa, near which was a fire exit. He had been through all possible routes from the sports hall many times. He had run through them, timed them, imprinted them on his mind.

  Children held out arms as he ran past. A teacher, four young ones clinging to her legs held up an arm as he ran past. “Help!”

  Jack had time to look at her and motioned his head for her to follow. He wouldn’t stop though, and he wouldn't shout. Seconds was all it took for everything to go wrong.

  He turned into the dark corridor of the spa. It was used for storage now. Boxes of food, tall towers of pineapples, sweetcorn, baked beans and those shitty tinned hotdogs that tasted of anything but hot dogs.

  He weaved through them to reach the fire exit. He hammered down on the bar and burst into the wet and wind of the storm.

  His lungs were piping hard; his new, post-Fall lungs, the ones used to running, to climbing up and down sand dunes. In comparison, Tarmac was easy. His feet bounced effortlessly off the wet road as he built up speed.

  From the side of his vision, people were running. Word had spread, and the fight had moved from the leisure center car park to some of the nearby chalets.

  As he got near to his chalet, towards the far end of the park, the crowds thinned, the only violence left that of the storm. His face stung red-raw. His hands numb.
>
  He pushed open the door of the chalet and ran to the couch. He put Annie down. He looked her over quickly. “You ok? Are you hurt?”

  Annie shook her head, sniffling, jerking gently in the aftermath of her crying fit,

  “I told you Daddy would never let anything happen to you? Didn’t I?”

  “What’s happened?” It was Ellie. She was holding Eddy, his wide eyes taking all in without understanding a thing. “Where’s Mac?”

  “He’s not back yet?”

  “What’s going on, Jack?”

  Jack took another look at Annie, leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. He got up and ran to the door, locking it. He then went to the windows and pulled down the blinds.

  “Jack? What the hell’s going on?”

  Jack peered through the blinds, he could see Peter and Mary’s chalet next door, and a portion of the road.

  “They’re coming, Ellie,” he said quietly.

  “Stop speaking in fucking riddles, Jack,” said Ellie. “Where’s Mac?”

  Jack shot her a sharp look. She knew he didn’t like swearing in front of the children.

  “We got to the Fence. It’s shot, gaps everywhere - I knew the ropes wouldn’t hold. I told them. I’ve been telling them. But no one listens, no one pays any attention, it’s only old Jack, crazy-”

  “Jack!” shouted Ellie. Eddy began to cry.

  Jack fixed his gaze on her. “Zombies on the beach, coming out of the sea, hundreds of them. They’ll cut through the fence like it wasn’t there. The dunes will slow them, but… We’ll be swamped within the hour.”

  Ellie’s face went through a few small distinct movements and states. Comprehension took a few seconds.

  “Where’s Mac?” she said again, her voice steady, but under it was something he hadn’t heard before. Strength, iron. The strength that maybe had seen her survive the Wilds for so long.

  “He wanted to go and warn people. I wanted to get Annie. He’s probably at the leisure center.”

  “But he was ok?”

  “He was fine. He can take care of himself. Different priorities, that’s all.”