It's Grim Up North (Book 2): The Island

by Wilkinson, Sean

  Chapter 3

  Darren dragged tattoo boy’s body away and out of sight. When he returned he took me to one side. ‘About before Carter. I should never have lost my shit with you, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said sincerely. ‘I’ll be fine once a scrape my underpants,’ I added.

  He laughed and then changed the subject quickly. ‘Listen, the sooner we make this place look like there’s no one here, the better. When the lads don’t return to the compound today, the others will, without doubt, send out a search party tomorrow.’

  We’d already planned to do this the night before anyway, for fear of being spotted by the patrolling destroyer that prowled the eastern horizon of the North Sea. We now had another enemy to think about, threatening to attack from the opposite direction. Bad enough that most of the population of the country had become mindless flesh-eating freaks, we had the added problem of two different groups of enemies to consider.

  ‘She’s not going to like it, but we’re going to have to limit Bobby’s movements around the island too,’ Darren told me before we turned to deal with the boys.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s a looker Carter; anyone sees her and they’ll do anything it takes to have her. That includes those fuckers on the destroyer,’ Darren replied as he looked over my shoulder, checking to see if our prisoners were behaving themselves.

  Darren was right of course. Even though Bobby had been through the mill and had most likely cried herself to sleep for the past six weeks, her natural beauty still shone brightly. Her long brown hair, olive skin, brown eyes and athletic build would attract any man. And in this desperate age, desperate men will do desperate things.

  Josh and Damien were tied up and locked in the coal room of the second house. Andy and Bobby were sent to the lighthouse as lookouts. One to watch the sea and one to watch the approach from the mainland. Not only scanning their own one hundred and eighty degrees of panorama but also the skies for potential drones.

  The temperature from the early morning sun was beginning to rise as Darren and I went into the boat shed and hooked up the Zodiac trailer to the tractor and drove it down to the beach. It was going to be another hot day. The boat we’d arrived on two days earlier was still booby trapped, so after Darren had disarmed the small grenade that was under the rock it was moored to, he went about dragging the inflatable Zodiac from the trailer. He then reversed the trailer into the water with the little tractor and positioned it under our old boat. The trailer was way too small for the larger boat but Darren strapped it on anyway. The tractor whined and shuddered with the effort of pulling it from the water. When it was clear the hull at the back of the boat scraped along the sand and cut a rather large divot in it. Surprisingly, and with a lot of revving and coaxing, the tiny tractor eventually positioned the long vessel in the boat shed with only inches to spare once the doors were closed.

  We went back down to the beach and Darren approached, from their safe side, the claymore mines that he had set the day before. After he’d disarmed them he stuffed them into his backpack.

  The Zodiac was pulled to the side, onto the grass and placed behind a small mound which made it barely visible from the beach. We covered the parts that could be seen with seaweed and grass for good measure. The tyre marks made by the tractor and the divot we’d created with the boat were refilled with sand.

  The small, pirate sailboat was a bit of a conundrum and Darren said he needed some time to think about what to do with it. Petrol was now a highly valuable commodity. It also had a limited shelf life and would go bad sooner or later. The tank on the Zodiac was full and we’d found a full Gerry can in the shed too. There wasn’t much left in the boat that brought us to the island so the usefulness of the sailboat was not lost on him, so it was left in situ, tied to the jetty for the time being.

  ‘I want to see what we’re up against with my own eyes,’ Darren stated on the walk back up to the house.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  Darren had absolutely no doubt in his interrogation techniques and was positive that the information he’d gleaned from Josh was true, but being an old pro at all this cloak and dagger shit, he wanted to lay eyes on the compound and find out for himself.

  ‘When?’ I asked.

  ‘The sooner the better Carter. They won’t send anyone out today to look for their missing. They’ll wait until dark before they start worrying about them and then they’ll most definitely send someone out at dawn. It’s mid-afternoon now. We can get kitted up, get over there, have a look and be back before bed time’

  ‘We? Are you fucking kidding Darren?’ I asked incredulously. ‘I’m a fucking entertainer not a soldier. What am I going to do? Sing them a fucking lullaby and hope they fall asleep so we can rescue the women?’

  ‘No, silly billy. We’re just having a look tonight. We’ll save them tomorrow night and then deal with Gippa as inhumanly as possible,’ he proclaimed.

  ‘Oh, well that sounds better,’ I replied sarcastically.

  Chapter 4

  After Darren and I had a bite to eat, I went up to the lighthouse and checked in with Andy and Bobby and took them up some food. We had skipped breakfast that morning because of the arrival of our uninvited guests.

  Andy laughed out loud when I told them Darren’s plan, which didn’t help instil any confidence in me about that night’s outing.

  ‘He’s taking you?’ He asked, trying to hide a smile.

  Secretly I was thinking, ‘My thoughts exactly!’ but couldn’t show any fear or doubt I had in my own ability to complete the task, so I stupidly said, ‘I can handle it!’

  At this, Andy fell apart in fits of laughter, while Bobby hid her smiling mouth behind her hand.

  ‘Dad, stop it.’ She said giggling.

  ‘What’s he going to do? Cry on them and hope they’ll drown?’ He said mockingly.

  Now I rarely lose my temper and have only ever been in one real fight in my whole life. Well, If you can actually call it a fight. There was only one punch involved, to be honest.

  It was the last day of school. The day that marked the final step into adult life. The day that changes a person forever. The day you realise that everything is about to change. No more floating on the wings of childhood. The stress of this realisation was partly to blame for ruining what was supposed to be a celebratory day. School was finally over. School shirts needed to be signed by friends and kept forever as a reminder of the good old days. None of this happened for me. I was expelled an hour after I’d arrived.

  As you know, I’d never been good at sports. I’d hated running back in those days, since the realisation that I’d never get home in the four minutes that were needed, when the sirens sounded, warning of an imminent Russian nuclear strike.

  I’d hated football too and didn’t really enjoy watching it until my late teens. I still hate fucking rugby to this day, since the middle school ‘incident’ – the physical education teacher and I never did get on.

  I’d ‘forget’ my PE kit every week. This method worked fine until I was ordered to search the lost and found box for suitable sporting attire. Finding something that was the correct size and didn’t reek of piss was an impossibility so, from then on, I would get my ever-amiable mother to write me a letter of exclusion to get me out of whatever the sadistic fucker had planned for us. This, and the fact that he was friends with the other equally sadistic teacher from my middle school, singled me out by him as fair game. Three years of constant bullying and needling later, added to an explosion of hormones and a growth spurt in my final year, plus the stress I was experiencing about the last days of school, unbeknown to me fuelled a simmering pot that threatened to bubble over at any moment.

  As is custom on the final day of school, the pupils would also ask the teachers to sign their crisp white shirts. Egged on by my peers, I stupidly thought it would be fun to ask the PE teacher to sign my shirt, which he did, on my back. ‘Least likely to achieve’ was
the lovely quote he inscribed. And to top it off, he proceeded to end the quote with a rather over-zealous full stop, which broke my skin. Obviously I’d been getting to him as much as he’d got to me.

  The headteacher took none of this into consideration when he expelled me for knocking the fucker out with a swift right uppercut. Of course the police were involved, but charges were never brought against me, which was highly surprising. I’m sure that was down to the PE teacher, not wanting to stand up in court and admit he’d been clobbered by a tall, skinny, acne-faced child. I did receive a caution and a black mark against my name, which was awfully frowned upon by my devastated parents, but I did get a crisp high five from my best friend as I was escorted off the premises and I also became a whispered legend at the school forever more, which I thought was awesome! I still do, to be honest!

  Well, the anger I’d felt back then, as I lightly bled on my school shirt, reared its ugly head again. After all I’d been though since the outbreak, all the trials I’d endured, everything I’d seen and done and fucking Andy was taking the piss out of me because of my emotions. OK, I do have a tendency to blub, but I’d never cried from fear. Well, maybe a little when the world was ending, but who didn’t? I’d never cried over loss or despair. I’d cried because of relief. Relief at finding someone else alive. Relief at being safe. Relief at having hot food. And there he was making out I was a coward!

  The next thing I remember was Darren pulling me off him and Bobby laying into me. Andy was huddled in a ball at my feet.

  ‘What the fuck, Carter?’ Darren said as he pushed me from the room. I stormed out of the lighthouse and walked to the back of the island to get some air and calm down.

  Chapter 5

  Maybe Andy was right, I thought. Maybe I would be a liability on such a quest. OK, I had stepped up to the plate when I’d been awoken from my slumber when sheltering in that tree and I had despatched the three deedaz without too much drama. I’d also found the courage to try and stealth kill the lone deeda that had sniffed me out; though its demise had been an utter fluke, I’d still walked towards the danger and not run from it. Even the courage I showed leaving the confines of the loft, to walk out into the unknown, alone, amongst the dead and make my way to the boatyard, was absolute proof that I wasn’t a coward. All Andy had seen of me since we’d first met was the emotional side, but the roasting he had dished out to me was unfair to say the least.

  I vowed from that moment on I wouldn’t give anyone else cause to doubt me or my abilities ever again. From then on, whatever was put in front of me would be dealt with, head on and without hesitation.

  After an hour or so of contemplation, reflection and staring at the sea, I had calmed down. One of my best qualities, if I do say so myself, is the ability to apologise when I’m wrong. To hold my hands up and say sorry. What Andy had said was wrong but he hadn’t deserved what I did because of it, so I decided an apology was in order. If we were to survive this ordeal, we’d have to stick together as a team. As a family.

  It was well after lunch time and the sun was high in the sky as I made my way back to the house.

  Darren found me a little later in the kitchen.

  ‘Is he ok?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s fine mate, a bust lip and a dent in his pride. That’s all. Listen Carter mate, I don’t want you coming with me if there’s a chance you’re not up for it.’

  The blood bubbled up through my neck again and I was about to release a tirade of expletives when Darren cut me off before I could speak.

  ‘I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I didn’t think you could handle what’s in store mate. I trust you, I trust your instincts. Nearly every thought and idea I’ve had since we first met, you’ve had too. The only difference between us is I’ve had training and I’m a bad ass motherfucker. Oh, and of course I’m fucking gorgeous.’

  Darren had just said exactly what I needed to hear. Whether it was true or not.

  ‘Thanks Darren. I’d better go and apologise to Andy,’ I said, as I began to get up from my chair.

  ‘Give him a little while mate,’ he said before I could leave. ‘He’s having a really hard time at the moment.’

  ‘We’re all having a hard time Darren,’ I replied. ‘That’s no excuse for the way he took the piss mate. He knows fuck all about what I’ve been through, what I’ve done and accomplished to make it this far. He was lucky. He had Bobby. I had no one.’

  ‘And there lies his problem Carter. He’s had the added stress and worry of trying to keep her safe. The knowledge that, at any moment, the decisions he makes could ultimately end in him witnessing the gruesome death of his daughter.’ Darren explained. ‘None of us are thinking straight Carter, we’re all handling this differently. Me, I try and keep my mind busy, try to have a laugh and take the piss a little. Andy just thought he was doing the same but went the wrong way about it. He realises that now.’

  Darren went on to tell me that Andy had gotten really upset after I’d left the lighthouse and that the last thing he’d wanted was to hurt me.

  ‘They’ve been through a lot Carter, Bobby told me what happened to her Mam,’ Darren added.

  This surprised me. I had pondered about what had happened to the matriarch of their family. The taboo subject of missing loved ones had never been raised. This had been an unspoken and subconscious agreement that we’d all unknowingly signed when we’d first met. No one talked of the lost and no one asked.

  The other thing that surprised me was that it had been Bobby who told their story. I’d known her for a little over 48 hours and she’d never spoken more than a sentence in that time. I’d tried to make conversation with her on a few occasions but all I’d received from her were one-word answers. She was obviously traumatised and was still very wary of Darren and me.

  Bobby wasn’t her real name. She’d been christened Robin. Andy had affectionately called her Rob in her pre-school days. This then evolved into Bob and from that to Bobby. Mainly in homage to the late great Mr Robson.

  She told Darren that her mum, Sarah, had been on a trip to Coventry seeing her sister when the dead came. The first thing Andy did after he’d watched the morning news on that fateful day was contact her. When she answered, Andy had instructed her to drive home immediately, which Sarah unquestioningly did. Ten minutes after putting the phone down she called back. At this point in the story Bobby and Andy broke down collectively.

  Sarah hadn’t even made it out of the street. She had been trapped in her car when she’d crashed after swerving to miss a woman covered in blood. The harrowing account that followed ended with Andy and Bobby hearing the final screams of their wife and mother, as she was devoured by the hungry demons. Then the line went dead.

  Andy frantically and futilely tried to call Sarah back and did so until the lines went dead. At which point he secured the shop and flat on autopilot. Andy spent the subsequent twenty-four hours in a semi-comatose state until he snapped out of it. He’d lost his wife. He would not lose his daughter.

  The guilt I felt after learning of this was immense. Yes, we all had our own distressing stories of survival but I couldn’t imagine how Andy and Bobby had dealt with something so terrible. I didn’t think I’d have been able to survive if that had happened with the ex. I would have given up. At least I had a little hope. No news was good news.

  My admiration for Andy grew immensely. For Bobby too. They hadn’t given up. They’d carried on.

  We sat in silence for a few moments. Darren disappeared into the living room and came back in with what looked like an army combat jacket, an empty, light brown burlap coal sack, a dark green bed sheet, my old camo onesie and a pair of scissors.

  He sat down next to me and suddenly started cutting my camo onesie into thin strips on the kitchen table.

  ‘What the fuck you doin’ to my onesie mate? I liked that onesie,’ I stated.

  ‘You ever gonna wear it again?’ He asked.

  ‘Well, no, but ...’

  ‘But nothing,
’ he interjected. ‘I’m making you something with it.’

  I sat and watched as he did the same to the burlap sack and the sheet, then proceeded to pin the strips alternately on to the hood and shoulders of the combat jacket. He also sliced some small holes into the jacket. Suddenly it dawned on me what he was creating. He was making me a man-shaped bush like his. A ghillie suit. Well, half of one.

  He told me that if we’d had time we’d have soaked it in water, dug a hole and buried it for a couple of weeks. This adds an extra level of protection for the wearer by disguising scent. The smell of detergent on a clean ghillie suit would stand out a mile in a forest or field, while trying to evade detection or capture.

  I gave Darren’s suit a quick sniff. It smelled a lot like rotten leaves, soil and, if I’m honest, dog shit.

  When I mentioned this to Darren he said, ‘There’s little or no opportunity to go to the toilet when you’re in the field and dug in mate.’

  ‘So you just shit yourself, you dirty bastard?’ I asked.

  ‘Ner man,’ he said, ‘I just roll over and crap in a ziplock baggie or some cling film. I may have missed once or twice and left some skid marks on the ghillie though.’ He giggled. ‘It all adds to the disguising effect mate.’

  I actually gagged at this as I threw his ghillie suit on the floor and feverishly wiped my hands on a kitchen tea towel lying on the table in front of me.

  ‘Don’t worry though,’ he added. ‘Your onesie smells of piss and tears, so it should have the same effect.’

  ‘Dick!’ I replied as he slapped his hand on the table, guffawing at his own gag.

  By the way, if you didn’t already know, a ghillie suit is a type of camouflage clothing, designed to make the wearer blend into the surrounding environment. The suit gives the wearer’s outline a three-dimensional breakup, rather than a linear one.

  The one Darren owned was full length and was designed to move in the wind to mimic the surrounding foliage. Darren assured me that the addition of the camo onesie, sacking and sheet to the jacket would recreate this effect.