The Fall Series (Book 3): The Fence Walker

by Cross, Stephen

  Something like that, anyway, thought Allen. So it looked like they were only thirty minutes away - How long had they been watching?

  Allen, Sarah, Abdul, and Crowe had set up observation at the top of the cliff overlooking the bay. It was quickly apparent the soldiers weren’t killing the civilians, which had been Allen’s first fear. They were shooting the zeds, putting out the fires. Helping the injured. It was hard to estimate the size of the army - small, maybe a platoon size, about sixty men or so. Allen didn’t think they were all conscripted men - through the eyes of his binoculars he had watched squads working with various levels of efficiency, with those most efficient spearheading the attacks into the most infested regions.

  He was watching a few of these squads now as they were mopping up a few groups wondering in the sand dunes.

  Crowe crouched next to Allen.

  “Anything new?”

  Allen gave the binoculars to Crowe. “Have a look at that team on the dunes. Tell me what you see.”

  Crowe watched as a team of eight men encircled a group of zeds caught in between two dunes. One man enticed the group through the gap. The rest picked off the zeds from the surrounding dunes.

  “Slick,” said Crowe. “Practised.” Crowe passed the binoculars back to Allen.

  “They’re not all like that. I saw another squad get taken out about thirty minutes ago. Looks like a mix of regular army and civvies.”

  “You think a squad of men survived and have been recruiting as they’ve been going along?”

  “I do.” Allen put the binoculars to his eyes again and started to scan the chalet area of the camp.

  “What do you want to do? Make contact?”

  Allen didn’t answer. Something had caught his attention. He shifted his position for a better view. A woman was being carried out of a chalet by two soldiers, she looked unconscious. A man with two children followed. What interested Allen, however, was the soldier standing by the group. He was pointing, giving out orders. Blond hair. A man that Allen recognized.

  “Holy shit…” said Allen under his breath.

  “What is it?”

  Allen stared at the man. A man who had been in his dreams. A man from the long dead history of Allen’s past. A man who had tried to kill him on the day of the Fall. The inept and lost second lieutenant Dalby.

  “Look at the man with the blond hair,” said Allen passing the binoculars back to Crowe.

  “Ok, I see him. Looks like the big shot. What about him?”

  “Remember I told you about our detail on the morning of the Fall? Well, here’s a bit more detail for you. We were stationed on the M25, part of the London barrier. It was a real shit show. The top brass thought we could contain the whole of London with some chicken wire and loudspeakers. We were stood by one of the wires, we had orders to hold the fence. At first, it was a lot of people, families, ordinary people, you know, milling about, angry that they couldn’t leave. Kids and stuff, old people. Your typical everyday Joes and Janets. We were filtering them through the gates, to waiting buses for evac. Anyone who looked like they had been bit was sent to a special bus, for ‘treatment.’

  “The whole thing was too slow. We didn’t have protocol for any of it. Who the fuck had ever run drills for a zombie apocalypse? We had viral protocols, of course, infections, etc. I’m sure you’ve run them yourself. Infected in the area, contain the area, filter them through, Bob's yer uncle, everyone happy. Of course, none of these drills counted on the sick people going batshit crazy and trying to eat the person next to them.

  “It all went fucking nuts pretty quickly. All it took was one zed in the mix, and we had a full-scale riot. You can’t blame them. They wanted out of there, and some slack-jawed soldier boy with a rifle wasn’t as scary as a drooling zed.

  “As I told you, Dalby was our CO. A second lieutenant, fresh out of Sandhurst, a few weeks I think. He lost his shit, told us to start mowing the crowd down. No discrimination, just fire. Everyone’s a hostile.”

  Allen paused. His eyes closed, the visions of that day still fresh in his mind. The old man he shot. The woman next to him. The young family that fell to his gun. He couldn’t clean that from his mind, it was now a part of him, as much as being able to breathe. He opened his eyes and looked at Crowe.

  “Me and Dalby came to blows. I broke off with a few good men; Singh, Lewis, a few others… But Dalby. He’s dangerous, Crowe. He was scared, and he was dangerous. Maybe he’s changed, but there was something that…”

  Crowe nodded. “We play it slow.”

  “First, we find out if Adam is down there.”

  “I got an idea.” He looked over Allen’s shoulder to where Sarah and Abdul were keeping watch on the woods behind.

  The rain had stopped, that was one good thing at least. She had a purpose now, thought Sarah. That was good, too, she thought. The bad points almost weighed out the good, but not quite. The bad points, well there was only really one bad point. The fact her and Crowe was going to go and join a holiday camp that had just been liberated from a horde of zombies by a psychopath. At least, that was Sergeant Allen’s take.

  There was no question of not agreeing to the plan.

  “Crowe will go with you,” Allen had said. “You’ll need to wind down the militarisms though, sergeant. You’re a civilian while you’re on that base, got it?”

  “You ever go undercover before?” said Sarah. They were walking along a pleasant tree-lined main road. It turned and weaved over and around hills. Follow it, and they would reach the camp in an hour or so, Allen had assured them.

  “I was a sergeant in the army. Not a spy,” said Crowe.

  “Only asking. No need for your snark.”

  Crowe smiled sideways at her. “You like the snark.”

  “I’ve dealt with tougher than you before,” said Sarah.

  “I forget that you were this high powered executive. Mostly I just see the pretty lady that needs me to carry her backpack.”

  She shook her head. “Eyes forward soldier.” He looked different without his gun by his side.

  “Where did they get all their bullets?” said Sarah, thinking of Dalby’s men with their loaded guns, unlike Crowe’s and Allen’s.

  “Who knows, maybe they found a deserted military base, some cache somewhere. It’s all over the place if you know where to look.”

  “Then why haven’t you found any?”

  “Because I don’t know where to look. But that don’t mean there aren’t people who do.”

  The mission was simple. Infiltrate the holiday camp. Using a word like infiltrate made it all sound so much more military, as if it was coming from a well managed and considered board of generals. Infiltrate and report back.

  The only important report was whether Adam was there. If not, then why stick around?

  “Arms up!”

  Sarah and Crowe responded immediately to the command from the soldier at the gate.

  “Say something,” said the young man. Skinny with an oversized green camo tunic.

  “Are you real army? Oh God, we’re so happy to see you!” shouted Crowe. Sarah had to try not to laugh. Enthusiasm and happiness didn’t fit Crowe. The nearest he got to laughing was a self-satisfied sneer, usually.

  “Yeah, we’re real army,” said the man, lowering his weapon.

  “I told you, honey, I told you we would be safe!” Crowe grabbed Sarah and hugged her tight.

  “Don’t lay it on so thick,” whispered Sarah.

  “Don’t worry, this dumb fuck hasn’t seen a day’s training in his life.” He broke off from Sarah. “How many of you are there?”

  The man smiled. He was young, very young, in his teens maybe. “Not sure, we only got here yesterday ourselves. If it weren’t for us, you’d be finding nothing but a camp of zeds.”

  “Zeds?” said Sarah. “You mean zombies?”

  “That’s right, we call them zeds.” The man took out his radio. “Hey, it’s gate detail. We got some new civilians.”


  The radio buzzed static. “Ok, send them to reception.”

  “Ok, you see that building over there? That’s where you need to go.”

  “Sure thing,” said Crowe. “Thank you, so much,” he grabbed the young man by the hand and shook it hard. “You’re a good man.”

  “They’re in,” said Allen. He passed the binoculars to Abdul.

  “You think they’ll be ok?”

  “I don’t see why not. As far as anyone down there is concerned, they’re just a lost couple on the road. They just need to keep it tight. Find out what’s going on and get out.”

  Allen stood up and made his way back to their little camp, a tent strung up between two trees. Covered in branches and foliage so it wouldn’t be seen from a distance.

  “I’m a bit jealous,” said Abdul, joining Allen.

  “How so?”

  “They will be warm tonight, dry. Maybe get some proper food.”

  “Proper food? What do you call this?” Allen chucked a can of tinned tuna to Abdul.

  Abdul caught it and looked at the can, the same as the other hundreds he had consumed. His vegetarianism hadn’t lasted long, once the Fall had hit.

  “As you say, Sarge. Let’s eat.”

  Sarah stood by the shower, just looking. She wanted to remember his moment. A shower; how fucking simple, but how amazing. The trepidation was similar to how she’d felt on her wedding day. The deep tumbling in her stomach, the heightened awareness.

  It wasn’t just a shower, though. It represented so much more. It was a symbol of civility, of society. She had not considered that the human race would rebuild itself, that it was possible. There was an unwarranted acceptance in her mind that everything was over. That scurrying from base to base, scavenging for food, living like some Channel 5 survival expert, was to be the norm from now until forever.

  To think that hot water at the turn of a tap was possible, it would have killed her. She realized now she had buried all hopes deep down. In a box, sealed. Like radioactive waste.

  She heard Crowe in the lounge of the chalet, his boots thumping across the floor. She turned on the shower, and any noise from outside of the little bathroom was drowned out. She stepped into the shower and gasped. Warm water. Her body tingled, a shiver of enjoyment down her back. How could anything this simple, this taken for granted, be so wonderful.

  If this was possible, what else was possible? Could society be rebuilt? Think of it; electricity, heat, good food, comfort.

  One thought entered her mind that she didn't want.

  You stupid woman.

  Her daughter’s face in her mind. Sarah had given her a bath two nights before the Fall. The last meaningful time they had spent together. The little three-year-old had giggled with her new bath toy, some squeezy duck thing. “Mummy, stop being so silly!”

  Sarah finished the rest of her shower in tears.

  Dried off, dressed in her old clothes. A shame they were so dirty. That would be the next task, to wash her clothes. Imagine wearing clean clothes again. Conditioned even, smiling like fresh flowers of the valley or something.

  “This is a pretty good set up,” said Crowe. He was stood in the generously apportioned kitchen, boiling a kettle on the gas stove. “You want a cup of tea?”

  “Most definitely,” said Sarah, sitting down. “Do you not think it’s a little creepy? I mean, the people living here probably died a few days ago.”

  Crowe shook his head. “Don’t think about it. Every house you ever lived in probably had someone die it.”

  A photo of an old couple still sat on the dining table. Their clothes were in the drawers.

  “Peter and Mary,” said Sarah.

  “What?” said Crowe.

  “They said they were called Peter and Mary.”

  “Christ, Sarah, forget about it. We’re lucky. We could have been sharing a chalet with other people. This is better, we can do what we have to do. Easy to come and go when we like.”

  “Even so,” said Sarah.

  “You want this tea or not?”

  “Sure.” She took the cup that Crowe brought over. It tasted good.

  Sarah’s second day at Tulloch Bay holiday camp started with a bang.

  Three bangs, to be exact, all on the front door of the chalet.

  She sat up immediately as if an electric shock had drilled through her. Months of living in the Wilds got you wired. It had been a furtive sleep anyway, lots of tossing and turning, walking every thirty minutes it seemed; not used to comfort.

  She had remained dressed to go to sleep, as they always had. Many nights of having to run in the dark; no time to pull on your Sunday best.

  She picked up her sword and ran out into the hallway. Crowe was there, dressed, his baseball bat ready.

  More bangs in the door.

  Crowe opened it slowly. A soldier was standing there, his fatigues worn and ill-fitting. Long hair, bad complexion, a thin beard of the type sported by young teenagers trying to look like Jim Morrison.

  “Hi,” said the man.

  “Hi,” said Crowe slowly. “What’s going on?”

  Sarah came to stand behind Crowe.

  “Sorry for getting you up,” said the soldier. “There’s a meeting for all survivors. In the sports hall in thirty minutes.”

  “A meeting?”

  “Yes, Major Dalby is to address all the survivors.”

  Crowe and Sarah exchanged a short glance. “We’ll be there,” said Crowe, allowing a broad smile to break.

  The soldier nodded and smiled himself. “Great.”

  They closed their door.

  “What you think?” said Crowe.

  “Our illustrious leader wants to speak.”

  Crowe and Sarah joined the flow of people heading towards the sports hall. Surrounded by the residents, she suddenly felt self-conscious. Clean clothes, short hair. Washed. She looked down at her own dirty attire, her skinny arms. And it wasn't just the physical - these people were a million miles away from Sarah’s world - like a crowd of people on their way to a country fair, or to a rock concert. At first glance. But then, as she looked closer, she realized maybe they weren’t so different… The men at the edges of the crowd, with their furtive glances towards the thin alleys leading to the beach, watching for another invasion. The woman holding her children tight, almost too tight. The elderly, wide-eyed and cowered in the middle of the crowd. The teenagers, bereft of attitude and nonchalance; instead fitful and uncertain.

  “There’s a lot of people here,” said Crowe quietly as they mixed in the middle of the throng filtering into the sports hall. Muted conversation between families. Babies crying. Toddlers barely kept under control by parents (or adopted parents).

  “How the hell are we going to find Adam in this lot?” said Crowe as they shuffled into the hall.

  There were no chairs set out and people filtered into lines, directed by many soldiers who lined the hall. They each carried a gun, whether that was a machine gun, a pistol, a rifle. Mostly young men, they eyed the crowd carefully. What did they expect to happen, thought Sarah?

  Her and Crowe were directed to a line halfway down the hall, and they sat cross-legged on the floor. It took a further twenty minutes for the room to fill. It was getting warm; early morning sun heated the plastic roof. Bodies radiating.

  “There must be nearly a thousand people here,” she whispered to Crowe.

  An unknown signal spread through the crowd, like a wave from the front to the rear. Conversation muted and stilled. Fidgeting stopped, and heads turned to the front of the hall where a small podium was visible.

  Expectation. Silence.

  James stepped onto the podium. He had briefly met Sarah and Crowe when they first arrived, allocating their chalet. He had been friendly, affable, if not seeming a little harried. He had humbly introduced himself as the de-facto leader of the community.

  People went quiet as James took to the floor, shushing others not so quick to silence.

  “Thank you, every
one,” he said as quiet descended. “It’s early in the morning, and I guess we’re all shaken up after what’s just happened. Thanks for coming, and sorry for the abrupt nature of your calling,” he smiled weakly, his eyes veering to the side of the podium, where Sarah could just about see a man in fatigues, the top of his head covered in shocking blonde hair.

  James continued. “We’ve been here for over a year now. At the beginning of the Fall, there was about four hundred of us. That number has grown to nearly a thousand, explosively so in the past few months. There have been issues, I won’t hide from that, but we’ve always done ourselves proud. We’ve always pulled together when it mattered, like two days ago, when we were attacked.”

  James paused. He took a breath and swallowed. “A lot of good people were lost. I’m sure there are many of you mourning for the sake of the virus for the second time. We thought we were safe here. We thought we could conduct normal lives, and maybe we got too complacent. Maybe we forgot the world we’re living in. I want you to know that my heart goes with you all. We have all lost those closest to us, but in spite of the perils we face, in spite of the loss and pain, we push on. We have to push on. For the sake of humanity. For the sake of those we lost. For the sake of those growing up in this world.” James smiled down at someone in the front row, a child or a mother, no doubt.

  James glanced to the side of the podium again. “I mentioned we had become complacent. I’ll be the first to hold up my hands and admit to the mistakes I made. Resources to the wrong places, not anticipating the importance of our defenses.”

  “Where’s Jack?” came a random shout from the hall, answered by several murmurs.

  James patted the air, looking for still again. “What happened two days ago, happened to all of us, because of all of us. We all had our parts to play. Just like we all have our parts to play to build again, and to make this place a strong, safe environment for us all and our families.”