The Fall Series (Book 3): The Fence Walker

by Cross, Stephen

  “How do you know how to do this?”

  “Trial and error. Eating a lot of crap meat. Getting in a mess.”

  “This isn’t?” said Jack, holding out his blood and gut smeared hands.

  “Not really,” said Grace. “Ok, put the fillets in this bag.”

  “Not much here?”

  “No. Used to be almost enough for me…”

  “I’ll learn. You can teach me how to catch things, how to do stuff like this. I want to be able to look after Annie. Myself.”

  “Ok,” said Grace. “Let’s do the rabbit next.”

  The wood pigeon was surprisingly tasty. Jack had never eaten birds, of any kind. Except for chicken of course, but then chicken didn’t really count as a bird, not a proper bird. Game, this type of food was called, thought Jack. He’d never eaten game, always seemed a bit too posh. Took an apocalypse for Jack to realize that game was tasty.

  “This is good,” said Jack. He nodded at Grace. She smiled back. “You like it, Annie?”

  Annie nodded, too busy eating to reply.

  They sat on the floor on rugs. People use to spend hundreds of pounds for the experience of staying in a cabin in the woods, hunting and gutting wild food, and then sitting around like hippies on the floor.

  Jack took a potato from the dish in the middle of their circle.

  “You grow these yourself?” said Jack, immediately realizing how stupid the question was. Who else would have grown them?

  “I did. I got a book from a library on grow your own. Potatoes were the easiest, I just had to find some first. Found some in a garden about a year ago. I’ve gone potato crazy since.”

  “I’m impressed, you know. Being on your own all this time,” said Jack.

  Grace didn’t reply, but continued eating her food.

  “How did you do it, I mean, you’ve seen what I’m like. You’re, well, you’re pretty tough. And then all this growing your own food, getting the electricity going.”

  “I did what I had to. You would too. Except you didn’t have to.”

  She was right. The night of the Fall, arriving at the holiday park. Ever since part of a community, just like before. Survival blocked off into different compartments, each specialty assigned to one person or group of people. Focus on your own parts, everything will be all right. Until it all goes to shit.

  They sat in silence for a while. Candlelight lit the room. Somehow, they had all decided without words that the electric lights weren't right. Maybe it was the fear of attracting zombies like moths, or attracting other people; Jack suspected it was neither of these though, it was simply that the candlelight seemed more real, more fitting to where they were.

  Jack finished his last piece of pigeon meat.

  “How did you end up here, I mean, what happened to you?” said Jack. It felt like a strange question. People back in the camp spoke openly, mostly, about their experiences of the Fall. This felt different, however, like he was asking an ex-con what they had done time for.

  It took a while for Grace to answer. Jack began to suspect he had crossed some great Wild’s faux pas, he was about to apologize when she said, “I used to work underground.”

  He waited for her to speak.

  “I worked for the government.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We made viruses.”

  Candlelight flickered on the wall, the distant fizz of burning wicks.

  “What we did was illegal,” said Grace. “By any international law or agreement or whatever, what we did was illegal. We made dangerous things. Things to kill people. Bio-weapons. I spent most of the year underground, like a fucking mole. Excuse my language, Annie. I’m sorry, don’t say words like that. I’m just angry. Still angry.”

  Jack put his head down, he didn’t want to look at her, it felt like he was listening to a private confession, heard from hiding crouched beside a Catholic confessional.

  “Forty-two, and no husband, no children. No life outside the lab and its secrets. It was like I closed off part of my mind, part of my life. I believed what I was doing was important. I lied to myself every single day. I told myself I was helping to keep the country safe, to keep the balance of world peace tipped away from complete chaos and destruction. I’m an academic after all. A Doctor, one of the best in the world in my field. How can I be wrong? How can I not have a laser-guided moral compass? I know more than most, more than the plebs who lived above ground, who would have condemned us and our work, not understanding. I was a big cog in a very important machine.”

  She looked at Annie and said, “Close your ears darling.” Annie Squeezed her hands against her ears.

  “It was all a bunch of mother fucking bullshit; I was a fucking stupid pawn in a fucking stupid machine run by the greatest cunts the world has ever known.”

  Jack raised his head to look at her again. There were tears in her eyes. “Did you…” said Jack meekly. “Did you, create the virus?” He hoped she would say no.

  A few moments, their eyes locked. Jack’s heart hammered. Then she said, “No. I didn’t. But maybe I know who did.”

  Her eyes moved to the corner of the room, Jack followed them to see the small silver laptop sitting on her bed.

  “That’s my professor’s laptop. I read things on the day of the Fall that made me… Made me doubt everything I’d ever believed. I’m not interested in lights, or microwaves, or fridges. It’s the laptop. That’s why I’ve made power. To read the country’s secrets.”

  “Are you going to look at it?” said Jack.

  She turned back to him. “I have to, don’t I?

  “Come on,” said the voice.

  Jack lifted his head. Through the blur of his just awake eyes, he saw Grace standing at the door.

  “What is it?” he whispered, glancing at Annie, still sleeping beside him. “What time is it?”

  “Time to go check the snares. Ten minutes. Both of you.”

  Jack hauled himself up. He shook Annie gently and once awake, they both got dressed. The smell of freshly brewed coffee from the kitchen.

  “There’s sugar there if you want it,” said Grace, sitting on the table, drinking her coffee.

  “Thanks,” said Jack. There was a cup of water for Annie.

  Within fifteen minutes of waking, not the ten demanded by Grace, the three of them were creeping out of the cabin into the early morning. A fresh day with no clouds, the grass still wet with dew. Birds sang, and bushes rustled. Something about the early morning, thought Jack, a stillness and peace, like a new birth. A day untainted by the horrors that could unfold. Was that it; each new day offering a different life to spin the world once more? Maybe. A lot could happen in a day.

  They set off through a rough path in the foliage; within seconds the cabin was out of sight. Maybe that was the answer as to why Grace had survived there so long, unvisited, or un-invaded, by others. You couldn’t see it unless you were on it. Thick woods surrounded it, and people avoided thick woods these days. He held Annie’s hand tight. “Stay close,” he whispered, his eyes scanning the trees. Dark shapes unencumbered by design or meaning twirled and gnarled about him, the ancient boughs and branches of hundreds of trees, their dressing of leaves covering the light. The trees knew; keep it tight, keep it close. Stay still and quiet and pretend you aren’t there, maybe you’ll be left alone.

  “Here,” said Grace, holding up a hand and suddenly stopping. Jack nearly walked into the back of her. “Have a look, just across that trail.”

  A small break in the foliage to their left revealed a light trail; rabbits, foxes, badgers. Funny to think the animals had their own little road network. Jack got on his knees and parted the overhanging ferns. About three feet into the path was a dead rabbit, its neck attached to the ground by a thin black snare.

  “How do I get it out?” said Jack, still whispering, but not really knowing why.

  “Pull out the stake from the ground, that will loosen it.” Grace cast furtive glances around her as she spoke. Alth
ough surrounded by trees and bushes and plants, he felt exposed, like a million eyes were watching. Probably were. The eyes of birds, of insects.

  Jack followed Grace’s instructions and soon had a floppy rabbit carcass in his hands. He passed it to Grace. She shook her head and nodded towards his backpack.

  “You keep it,” she said. “You’ll be gutting it later.”

  They continued into the woods, checking five more snares. Three empty, two ripe with rabbit protein.

  “Not bad,” said Grace.

  “What about the pigeons? Do we have traps for them?” said Jack.

  Grace smiled. “No, Jack. I shoot them, with this.” She tapped the crossbow hanging over her back. He felt a little stupid. What had he expected, nets in the sky?

  They had been gone an hour or so. The sun was getting stronger, the dew drying. The innocence of the early morning was gently evaporating, and with it, Jack felt his anxiety grow. He was pleased when Grace said it was time to go back.

  How she knew the way, Jack didn’t know. One turn after another through the woods, across light clearings, over little streams, down steep embankments, up rolling rises. Maybe it was like a guitar song, you do it enough, and your fingers just know what to do - seemingly unconnected, impenetrable patterns spill out of you easily like breath.

  Grace raised her hand. They stopped. She crouched and motioned for them to do the same. Jack did so. “Come here,” she whispered.

  Jack crouched beside her. She put his hand on his shoulder; it comforted him for some reason, although he suspected that isn’t the intention. With her other hand, she pointed ahead. The path broke into a clearing, half bathed in sunlight, half shaded by retreating shadows. On the edge of the shadows, three zombies stood, facing their direction. With a gentle moan, the zombies began to slunk towards Grace, Jack, and Annie.

  Jack waited for Grace to pull out her bow. Three bolts and thunk, thunk, thunk, they would fall like lumps of meat on a butcher’s floor.

  But she didn’t.

  She stared at the approaching zombies, now only twenty feet away.

  “Grace,” said Jack. She didn’t answer. He said again, “Grace, what are you doing?”

  She shrugged and glanced briefly at Jack. “I don’t know. What are you doing?”

  Jack looked back at Annie. They could run into the forest. He went to rise, but he felt pressure on his shoulder. Grace was pushing him back down.

  “Let go,” said Jack.

  “Why, you going to run?”

  “I have to think of Annie.” He could easily shrug off her hand. But how could he find his way back to the cabin? What’s to say she wouldn’t shoot them in the back? “Come on, Grace,” he said.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Shoot them!” He hissed through clenched teeth. He felt Annie’s hand tugging on his shirt.

  “Daddy,” said Annie. “I’m scared.”

  “Like I did last time?” said Grace.

  “Yes,” he stared at her, but she refused to look at him, denied him the satisfaction of looking at his anger.

  “Like last time, when if it weren’t for me, you both would have died?”

  The clicking started. Only a few yards away, the decrepit and decayed bodies, entrails and pieces of ragged yellow skin hanging from torsos. Like the night his wife had died. The night he had failed, when he hadn’t stayed in the car, when had done all the things wrong. What happened if he did the wrong thing again…

  “Daddy!” shouted Annie, now pulling on his shirt. Jack jumped up, pulling his baseball bat from his belt. He brought it round in a quick and decisive strike against the head of the first zombie. It cracked. He swung again. The head shattered. A flash of black, red ooze squirted from gaps in the yellow bone.

  No more thought. A bloodlust gripped Jack. He moved quickly and sharply through the next two zombies. No hesitation, no fear. Like all the other people who killed so easily - he had spent so long wondering how they did it; now he understood. They didn’t know either. They just did.

  Out of breath, silence again. A rustle as some birds took to the sky. His skin felt warm in the sunlight. He raised his hand and wiped his forehand and looked at it. Blood. Of a sort. Black and terrible.

  “Daddy,” shouted Annie. She ran into the clearing and they embraced.

  Grace emerged. She nodded at Jack.

  “Good work, come on.” She continued walking with only a passing glance at the corpses.

  Jack stared at her. Where was his hero’s celebration?

  “There may be more, let’s keep moving,” said Grace. She stepped out of the clearing at the opposite side.

  Jack and Annie followed.

  The laptop was more than just a computer, more than a collection of silicon and plastic and metal. It was a window to the past, to Graces’ old life. The photo’s of her Mum - the only family she had. She was gone now, too. In a way, it had been easier, not having to think too much about all she had lost. There hadn’t been much to lose, just life under the ground; a series of metal boxes connected by metal tubes, surrounded by scientists and secretive government men. The ‘spooks,’ they had called them, laughing and not really taking them seriously. They had been the men who said yes or no and who didn’t really understand what the scientists were doing. That’s what they all thought.

  Who had been right though? Had the spooks known more? The real puppets had been Grace and her colleagues. Signing over their morality for some unfounded belief that what they were doing was protecting the people they loved. Had Grace really ever believed that? Had she ever found peace with herself and her work?

  Maybe that was why she was alone. To be with someone you needed to open yourself to them. She could never do that.

  What do you do?

  I build viruses.

  Viruses?

  Diseases that could destroy the world.

  Why do you do that?

  To keep the world safe.

  That doesn’t make sense.

  La la la la la

  Her powerlessness had been revealed in the Fall. Professor Lloyd had died trying to… Trying to what? She would never know.

  Unless it was in the laptop.

  The Fall had raged above her head, and they had watched on the TV, until the TV stopped.

  She glanced at Jack and Annie. They were fast asleep. It had been a long day. Jack had found his inner beast. Had managed to kill three zombies. Whoop-de-fucking-do. They were already dead. But at least he had got past his fright-night shivers. More likely for them all to stay alive if she wasn’t babysitting everyone.

  Grace got up and took the laptop into the kitchen. She didn’t put the light on but plugged the laptop into the wall. A little orange light signified it was still working. She realized she had hoped it had been broken.

  She opened the lid and held her finger down on the power button.

  The light turned green and the screen fired up. Sudden bright white in the darkness. An invader to the post-electric world. The world that had reached a zenith of screens, to have them suddenly ripped from existence. Had the world sighed a breath of relief? The way the light of the laptop hurt her eyes made her think it probably had.

  She opened the Professor’s saved email transcripts.

  FROM: Professor Angus Ferrera

  TO: Professor David Lloyd

  TOP SECRET

  Well David, looks like the experiment is well and truly fucked. I suggest you get your nearest and dearest and go hide. Forever. Adios.

  She stared at the words for a few minutes, her heart pulsing. She looked through the directory file system. One folder caught her eye, underscored with one single word. Rabbit Run.

  She opened the folder.

  Further files opened - schematics, documents of formulae, emails, meeting notes, going back years into the dark past of the country’s biowarfare past. And not just her country. The stamps of America, of France, Australia, Germany, the workings of all these many labs and governments brought tog
ether to build what should never be built.

  One document, entitled Diary. Her professor’s Diary. The last entry, dated three weeks before the Fall engulfed her lab:

  Subject FTY-8 responded well to the catalyst. It took a full hour to turn this time, but when it did, what a sight. All our work has paid off. What we are left with is a fully functional carcass, capable only of destruction. I can’t sleep tonight, for through my mind is the fear and terror of what could happen with an army of our subjects. We wouldn’t stand a chance. The potency is such now that all it takes is a transference of a few drops of bodily fluid and you are finished. There is no way back. The brain is ravaged, left only with the functional parts, those that can kill, eat, devour and move. A shell of the person is left.

  So what now? The government men are rubbing their hands, believing we can finally put to rest the beast from the East - China, Russia, the Middle East. Lance all the sores of the world. We have tried to tell them that this is more dangerous than anything they have ever considered. There is no putting the genie back in the bottle. They won’t listen. They believe it can be managed. It can’t.

  A group of us are pushing for a demonstration for the leaders of the world. Let them see what we have, in a controlled environment. The threat alone should ensure peace for the rest of time. More terrifying than the nuclear option, surely once all governments are aware of this weapon, that’s it, tools down? Surely.

  We are all intelligent people are we not?

  Grace stared at the screen for minutes in the dark, her mind blank. Then she clicked to the start of the file, dated fifteen years ago, and began to read.

  This is the diary of Professor Lloyd, a viral engineer under the employ of the British Government. I have been tasked with the designing and implementation of a weapon, a weapon to end all the world’s wars…