“What the fuck…”
Harriet remembered November the fifth. The night when England celebrated the capture of Guy Fawkes with nationwide bonfires, fireworks, and burning Guys. She remembered as a little girl it wasn’t the glow and whizz and bangs that had captured her so much, it was the fury of the bonfires and their pungent beautiful warm smell. The crackle of the wood, the pops, the thick wet smoke.
All these thoughts and memories and more, with their bittersweet beauty, fired through her mind in milliseconds.
“Fire…” she said. “Fire, and a shit load of it.”
The glow was ahead of them, to the left and to the right. The whole of the bottom of the hill was circled by fire.
“Come on, closer,” said Crowe, “we got to get recon.”
“You sure?” said Andy.
“I’m sure,” said Crowe. “Go back if you want.”
Andy shook his head and followed Crowe as they moved closer to the distant glow.
Now, quiet footsteps, still and careful. Something was happening. How could fire like this start, one so centered, so targeted?
“Dalby,” said Harriet.
“What?” said Crowe.
“Dalby. This is him, the fire. We have to go back.”
They stopped. “What’re you talking about?” said Crowe.
“Look at it, this isn’t a natural fire.”
“She’s right,” said Andy. “We need-” his last words weren’t heard. They turned into a yell. A figure had its arms around Andy’s neck.
Harriet raised her gun.
Crowe leaped forward, the butt of his gun seemingly aimed at Andy’s head. Putting him out of his misery, thought Harriet.
There was a sickening crack. Andy was on his own again, his eyes wide open, staring, his face consumed with shock. The zombie on the floor, its head caved by Crowe’s gun.
“We gotta go, horde,” said Crowe, pointing in the general direction of the wood. “You bit?”
“No,” said Andy, not sounding sure.
“Good, now let’s fucking move!” He pushed Andy and Harriet in the general direction of up the hill.
Harriet ran, anxiety now at her back, chasing her every foot of the way, pure fear. She understood now the demons and devils and woodland sprites of ancient myths. All from the mind, all the rawest and most terrifying emotions of the human psyche. She could feel it, actually feel it behind her. Grabbing with bony thin black fingers.
Up the hill, they ran. The trees around her moved. Tall, dark shadows, thin figurines of black, beside them, behind them, around them. Groans and clicks. They were surrounded by the dead. A horde, in the woods, between their base and the fire. Crashing through the trees, through the night, towards the camp.
“Horde!” That was Crowe.
“Ok people, get ready to move,” shouted Allen. He stood still, watching the dark of the trees, waiting for the three to come back. Behind him was the cliffs. They dropped two hundred feet to the fields below. To his right, the path led up a steep rise to the end of the headland, where it swept to the west and eventually dropped back to the beach on the other side. To his left was thick woods that quickly became an impassable hill threaded with sheer rocky growths.
What was good in peacetime - keeping their approaches down - was going to hinder them now, their opportunities for escape thin.
Three figures emerged from the path. Crowe at the front. “Horde, sir, everywhere. Fire at the bottom of the hill; it’s spreading fast. Looks like we’re trapped.”
Allen nodded. “Ok, listen up, we go up the headland, we’ll track it around and make our way to the far beach, you got that?”
The small party nodded.
“Take only what you need to survive the next twenty-four hours. We can deal with tents etc. later. Dean, get the ropes. Warren, get the water. Andy, you help Abdul.”
The first moan shook through the dark like a siren call. Maybe that’s what it was, for straight away it was answered by a hundred more, as zeds crashed through the woods, emerging in the darkness like nightmares.
“Move!” shouted Allen. “Crowe, take point.”
Crowe darted off to the west exit of the camp, the others following tight behind. Allen waited for them all to file into the thin woodland path.
The first two zeds approached. No features in the dark, just shapes, moaning and clicking and stinking of rot and death. Allen raised the butt of his gun, and with two fast and powerful jabs, their heads collapsed. The zeds dropped to the floor.
He followed the others. A thin line of people, deep blue in the moonlight. Behind them, the trees crashed and rustled as if alive. The groans and clicks of the dead filled the air, the woods now an alien landscape populated with beasts of the underworld.
Allen checked behind him, they were making good ground on the zeds. The zeds would be getting tangled in the trees and undergrowth. With no organization, no communication, or knowledge of how to work together, they would push and shoulder, getting stuck in bottlenecks; they would trip over tree roots and fall off the cliff; they would get tangled in bushes they had unwittingly entered and so gripped by thorns, unable to move.
They would get out of this one, thought Allen, but only just.
“Keep moving,” said Allen, “Not too fast Crowe, we can’t afford any injuries.”
The woods thinned after a few minutes of quiet marching. Abdul and Andy were in front of Allen. Abdul was moving fast, but his breathing was shallow and every now and again he let out a cry of pain. Andy held him up as best he could, the two men clinging to each other
“How you holding up, Abdul?” said Allen.
“Good,” said Abdul. “I’m good.”
“Andy?”
“No problems here, Sarge.”
Allen glanced behind him. No visual sign of their hunters, but he could still hear them. Something else caught his eye. To his left, down the hill, a red glow emanated from the depths of the forest. The fire.
The path opened ahead into flat moorland. As long as the fire hadn’t reached this far up the headland, they would be able to hug the coastline and drop down to the next beach. Home free.
A gunshot from ahead. Followed by another.
“Shit,” shouted Crowe at the head of the column. “Back!”
More gunfire. Machine guns. Bullet after bullet coming from the clearing ahead. Harsh, abrasive sound that didn’t stop. The vegetation crumbled with soft whooshing sounds. Tree trunks split with damp thuds as bullets embedded deep in their wood. A trap.
“Fall back,” shouted Allen. “Fall back, fall back, fall back,” he repeated the command over and over, his voice rising above the gunfire, pressing his words into the minds of his small army - a simple order to yank them away from danger. “Fall back!”
But to where? Into the wall of approaching zeds? Down the hill into the flames?
He had to think quickly.
“Dean! Give me that rope.”
Before Dean could process the command, Allen was pulling the long circle of rope off Dean’s shoulder.
“Warren, Crowe, Grace, start firing into the clearing.”
“What at?” said Warren.
“Doesn’t fucking matter,” shouted Crowe, already aiming his gun. “Just shoot!”
The loud rapport of gunfire accompanied Allen as he tied the rope around a thick tree near the edge of the cliff. He had no idea if the rope was long enough to reach the bottom, but that didn’t matter. It was their only chance.
He tested the rope, then flung the end over the cliff.
“We climbing down there?” said Jack.
“Any other ideas?” said Allen.
Jack glanced at Annie. “No.”
Allen understood. “Ok, Andy, you go first, quick now. We need to see if we reach the bottom.”
Andy stared at Allen for a moment, then took a visibly deep breath. He wanted to speak, he wanted to protest, he wanted to have a tantrum and refuse to do something that could be leading him to his inevitable death. But he did
n’t. Instead, without another word, he went to the edge of the cliff. Harriet and Jack, with Annie in tow, ran to the edge of the cliff and leaned over.
The gunfire stopped.
Even with the groans of the forest behind them, everything seemed suddenly quiet.
“You see anything, Crowe?”
Crowe shook his head, lowering his gun. “Nothing, sir.”
“Ok, keep an eye out for movement. Could be they just want us pinned here.”
Allen made his way to the cliff edge. “How’s he doing?”
“Ok,” said Jack. “look, just there, by that ledge.”
Allen saw Andy’s already small figure making its way around a rocky outcrop.
Luckily, the cliff wasn’t sheer, but at an angle. Too steep to walk down, but with a rope, not impossible. Andy was moving fast.
A moan from behind. Loud.
“Daddy,” said Annie, her voice wavering. She clung to Jack’s side.
“They’re getting closer,” said Jack quietly.
Allen went to the back of the group and stared into the woods. It was too dark to… Wait, just there. Movement in the shadows. They were coming.
He ran back to the cliff edge. “Where’s Andy?”
“I can’t see him anymore,” said Harriet.
“Crowe, anything coming?” shouted Allen.
“Nothing, sir.”
Allen couldn’t see Andy, but he hadn’t heard any shouts of pain or falling screams either.
“Ok, we go. You go next, Jack. You can take Annie on your back?”
Jack nodded. “You heard the Sergeant, Annie. You have to get on my back, and hold on tight.”
Annie shook her head. “I can’t Daddy, I’ll fall.”
Jack hugged his daughter tightly. “It’s ok, you won’t fall.”
There was no time for this. “Harriet, go," said Allen. "You go next, Warren.”
Harriet, without words, began to climb down the rope.
“You hold onto my back,” said Jack softly, “and close your eyes. We can sing a song. What would you like to sing?”
“Blackbird, the one about the Blackbird in the night.”
“Ok, we’ll sing that. You hold on tight.”
Jack stood up, with Annie. They began to sing a gentle Beatles song that Allen knew well.
“You good?” said Allen.
Jack nodded. He then turned and took the rope, joining the others, with Annie on his back.
Allen crouched next to Crowe. “Still nothing?”
“No,” said Crowe, shaking his head. “Fuckers are just keeping us pinned is all. Want us to toast in here. Or become zed-food.”
Allen smelled fire in the air. Smoke leaked in from the woods below. Thin now, but it would be thick soon.
He put his hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Ok, you next. Then you Dean.”
A distant shout. Allen ran to the edge of the cliff. People stretched out along the rope like a caterpillar.
“You hear that?” shouted Jack.
A shout again. It was Andy. Allen couldn’t make out the words. But he was alive, that was good enough.
“Keep moving!” shouted Allen. “Go!”
Abdul was sitting by the tree. “Come on Abdul,” said Allen grabbing his arm. “You’re coming with me.”
Abdul shook his head. “You can’t carry me. And I can’t use the rope. You have to go on.”
Allen didn’t have time for this hero bullshit. “Shut the fuck up. This is an order, and I’m not being nice. Get the fuck up now.” Allen grabbed Abdul, who let out a cry of pain, something in his beat-up body rejecting the sudden movement. It didn’t matter, it was only pain, Abdul would survive.
“Go on, Crowe.”
Crowe put his gun across his back and took the rope. He climbed down.
Rustling from the woods. Thick smoke surrounded them. Allen started to cough.
“Now, hold on tight, wrap your legs around my waist the best you can. It ain’t dignified, but it’ll keep you alive. You can do that?”
Abdul nodded.
Allen turned to face the woods, his back to Abdul. “Go on then.”
Abdul wrapped his arms around Allen’s neck. Ten feet away, the first of the zeds arrived. It saw Allen and Abdul and upped its pace. Its mouth, devoid of teeth, chattered anyway, the useless jaw vibrating up and down.
“You got a good hold?” said Allen.
“Yes,” said Abdul. His heavy warm breath in Allen’s ear suggested otherwise. It suggested a man in a panic.
“Ok, take it easy Abdul. Just stare straight ahead. Don’t look down. Close your eyes if it helps.”
“Yes,” came the panicked reply.
Abdul must have weighed only 120 pounds. Not light, but not too heavy either. Allen could do this. He hoped.
The horde arrived. Their ragged, splintered forms, swirling in thick smoke, emerged from the forest like Tolkien’s ring-wraiths.
Allen held onto the rope and stepped back over the edge of the cliff. Abdul squirmed and tightened his grip, constricting Allen’s airways.
“Looser, Abdul, I can’t breath, loosen the fucking grip mate, that’s it, that’s it, relax, take it easy pal. That’s it, off we go, eyes forward.” The wood and the approaching zeds disappeared as Allen took the rope down the cliff.
Allen shouted, as loud as he could, “Eyes up people, you got incoming.”
A few seconds later, the first of the zeds tumbled over the cliff. One step into oblivion and its body collapsed like a rag doll as it bounced down the drop, hitting rocks and bushes, a cascade of dirt around it.
Allen kept his grip on the rope. Focus on the job at hand. Be aware of what’s above, but keep moving down, one hand after the other. Don’t mind the weight, it’s only weight, it’s only pain. It won’t kill me. One hand after another.
A cry from below. A scream. Someone fallen? Didn’t fucking matter, not at this exact second. All that mattered was one hand over the other. Keep the feet on solid ground. Test, then place, test, then place. Abdul said something, Allen didn’t hear, it wasn't necessary to hear. “Keep holding on Abdul. Relax my man, relax.”
No more screams. Zeds tumbled passed, but no more cries. No more gunfire.
“It’s Allen,” a babble of voices from below. His back constricted in agony. His arms ached with each command to grip. Abdul’s breathing was fast and heavy. Panic.
“I can’t hold on.”
“Yes you fucking can!” shouted Allen, as loud as he could. “Yes, you fucking can! If I can carry you, you can sure as fuck hold on! Don’t you let go. Don’t you dare, we need you. We all need you, don’t you dare let go.”
Of course he could hold on. It was just whether he wanted to. Sometimes it was easier to give up.
Shouts from below, everyone was down. “Come on, come on!”
Allen allowed himself a glance down. They were almost there. A crowd of people waited for them. One hand over an another. One foot, then the next. “Almost there, buddy,” said Allen. “Just another few feet.
One foot over another, and then, the angle tapered, quickly, not so steep anymore. Allen found he could walk backward. He let Abdul down onto what was a steep hill, but not a cliff anymore.
He leaned down next to Abdul, who was crying. He hugged him. “We made it. Here we are.”
Crowe was suddenly beside him. “We lost Warren. He fell.”
Allen shook his head. Dammit. “What about the zeds?”
“We’ve been taking them out as they land, but we got to go, there’s too many.”
They were in a field, that in a hundred yards turned into forest. Andy, Grace, Harriet, and Dean were killing the zeds as they fell from the cliff, but they were losing ground, the zombie numbers too many.
Jack was stood away from the rest, ignoring the few melees that surrounded him. He was holding his daughter’s hand and they were staring towards the woods. Allen came to stand next to them. They looked at a tall structure wrapped around the woods. Pieces of unnamed met
al, wood, concrete; the flotsam and jetsam of the new world entwined in one symbiotic relationship of purpose.
“It’s the Fence,” said Jack.
“Daddy’s Fence,” said Annie.
Allen looked behind him, the number of zeds was growing. The fall killed some of them, but not most. The horde was following them down.
“We gotta go,” said Crowe.
“You can get us over?” said Allen.
“Follow me,” said Jack.
“Fire!” shouted Dalby.
Chris, from his position behind the large outcrop of rocks, a distance from the break of the wood, pulled his trigger. Short, controlled bursts. The familiar and comforting kick of the gun thudded against his shoulder. The rapport of many guns echoed around him as other soldiers opened up. A burst of light and sound, the cliff top erupted in strobe-light dazzle.
Chris hadn’t even seen the target; well, he’d seen someone move, someone emerge from the woods. A figure in the dark. He thought he saw more behind, but he couldn’t be sure. It was all inky and blue and black night. But it had given him somewhere to aim.
The bullets tore the woods to pieces. He heard ricochets, the thump of tree trunks being decimated by round after round.
Would he hear the screams when they came?
Suddenly, a bullet bounced off the rock, just next to Chris’s head. He instinctively ducked. “Fucking hell!” he shouted about the gunfire.
Fuckers were firing back at them.
“Keep firing,” said Dalby.
Chris, now annoyed, fired with renewed vigor. They’d get them soon. Nowhere to go, was there?
It was a good plan from Dalby - Chris had to give him credit all right. They’d got that bunch of dead heads from outside the Fence, got them to follow them all the way to the woods. Then, at the bottom of the hill, they led them over the petrol line that a few others had laid down. The second they were over, the petrol line was lit. Chris and the others had set the zeds heading up the hill, then escaped out this way at the top of the cliff.
So, Allen and his rebels would head this way, they had to. What the fuck else would they do, jump down the cliff?
“Hold your fire!” shouted Dalby.
The Major took a few steps onto the top of the outcrop. Look at that, he didn’t give a shit. Like that general in Apocalypse Now. Just standing there in full view. Nothing was going to get him.
The Fall Series (Book 3): The Fence Walker Page 36