It had not been easy these past four months, despite the school’s numerous conveniences that made their continued survival possible. Artesian wells, a huge solar power array across the roofs of virtually every building, backup diesel generators wired in, a huge tank of diesel at the rear which had been three-quarters full, an on-site maintenance area with a massive wood shop and selection of tools, and so much more. The huge fees paid every term by wealthy parents had been smartly invested by the school’s governance, and the early transition to solar power was genius, involving an initially steep capital outlay but one that would ultimately pay for itself over the subsequent years. The term fees kept going up every year, but the energy bills were coming down, making the school more profitable year on year.
Graham Smith, the only remaining teacher that had stayed on site with the last of the children, was well versed in the solar power aspect of the school. Being the head of science, and both a physics and chemistry graduate, his natural scientific leanings meant he was interested by all aspects of it and been the school’s key liaison with the contractors overseeing the installation project. Crenshaw could afford to pick elite staff and pay top wages, keeping the wealthy parents subscribing to their school’s mantra of producing the future elite, and Graham Smith was certainly picked from the top drawer of candidates.
Sarah was now only the third adult on site, along with Dean and Graham. When the police officer had arrived at the school four months ago, only Graham and twelve students remained. One of those children, Thomas, was already dying from a bite and Dean had endured the grim task of putting him to rest for a second time when the toxic wound eventually killed him.
Five more had been lost since then. In the first couple of weeks, one girl had died in the night. Angela had been a timid, shy child that suffered with asthma. Struggling to breathe in the early hours and finding her inhaler empty, she tried to get up and alert someone for a refill but fell against a bedside table and broke her neck. Three more girls died in that small dormitory as the child reanimated and unleashed a silent, murderous rampage on her sleeping schoolmates. One girl of fifteen years named Jennifer James – or JJ as she preferred to be called – had retained enough presence of mind to escape the dorm and raise the alarm. JJ had the good fortune to be the one sleeping nearest to the door, and thus the furthest from ground zero, allowing her the opportunity to escape the unfolding horror.
Four more walking child corpses that Dean was forced to put down and bury.
The last one they lost was a boy named Sam, just a few weeks earlier. He was thirteen, and one day just vanished. They searched the grounds for him, but never found a body or sign of the boy. All they could assume was that he’d decided to strike out on his own. What had possessed him to do so, Dean could only imagine. Maybe he just had to get home and thought he would be stopped if he revealed his intentions to the two adults. It was impossible to say.
Now, there were just eight remaining on site. Dean and Graham were the eldest, Sarah was now technically their third adult, and the other five residents of their small community were all kids between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. The surviving children had adapted as well as Dean could have hoped for, given the unnatural situation they had been thrust into.
JJ was the only girl after the dormitory massacre. The other four minors were all boys, though the eldest – Zain Upreti - was in the same year as Sarah and would turn eighteen at the start of December. He was desperate for the chance to shoot, but Dean refused his pleading. In his opinion, anyone that eager to fire a live weapon needed to learn temperance and patience.
The other three boys were all true minors. Daniel Mason and Joseph Evans were both fourteen, and Alex Chang was fifteen.
Alex, he discovered, was a hell of a shot with a small compound bow. The boy had been doing archery since he was ten, a sport catered for and encouraged by Crenshaw school, and the boy of Chinese heritage was a prodigy, having been the county champion for his given age group for the past two years. It was a skill that would no doubt come in handy, and Dean encouraged the boy to practice as much as he could. Having watched him shoot, the police officer was doubly impressed with his genuine ability. Alex was fast, smooth, and unerringly accurate with his bow. It would be a while before he was willing to let the boy accompany him on a supply run, but his skill with the bow would undoubtedly be an asset. From shorter ranges, he never missed the stationary head targets. A moving, murderous undead skull might be a different proposition, but the foundations were definitely in place.
“Uncle Dean?”
Sarah’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I was miles away. What did you say?”
“I asked if you thought I was ready?”
He sighed. “Sadly, yes, I do.”
“Sadly?”
Dean put an arm round her slim shoulders and planted an affectionate kiss on the crown of her head.
“Yes, sadly. You’re eighteen and should be thinking about university next year and planning a bright future to make golden memories. Instead, here you are with a handgun at your hip, ready to venture out into a vicious world where you might have to shoot at living people, and who might shoot back.”
Over the past few months, Dean had heard the reports of gunfire here and there when out on supply runs. Mostly they were single shots of small arms or a shotgun, likely putting down approaching undead, and thankfully never in earshot of the campus. On one occasion back in late August though, he’d heard a ferocious explosion of gunfire while out on a supply run, the obvious sounds of multiple rifles and shotguns shattering the air somewhere in the distance. That kind of firepower and aggression unnerved him, considering he’d never had to fire a bullet in anger in all the operations he had served as an SFO. Firearms were such a rarity, especially in his rural county, so hearing that level of firepower being traded was genuinely unsettling. There were at least two heavily armed groups in the two small nearby towns and worse, it sounded like they were at war.
After hearing that thunderous battle, Dean had withdrawn and confined his supply runs to small villages dotted through the area, or isolated rural clusters of housing.
Food was a problem. Fresh, clean water was not, which was a boon, and there was enough diesel in the tank on site for the generators they were using, now they were all clustered into a single building. This winter at least, with the diesel in the tank and the solar power providing them with plenty of stored energy, they would be able to stay warm through bitterly cold nights.
Food, however, was their most pressing need. They were not gathering enough dried or canned foods from the smaller villages to keep them going, nor were they going to get essential vitamins and minerals to supplement what they consumed from their limited diet. Maria had forever been laying out various vitamins for him on his way to work, making sure he stayed healthy, and every time it made him laugh.
He sighed audibly, and Sarah caught the look on his face.
“You’re thinking of Aunt Maria again.” There was no question, just a statement.
“I am,” he admitted with a wan smile.
Sarah said nothing more, just folding her arms around his waist and putting her head on his chest.
“I miss Mum, and I miss Dad,” she admitted. “Even though we weren’t close, he was still my dad. I wish he were here.”
“Me too, sweetheart. He was always a good friend to me and Maria. And he loved you.”
“I know.”
They held on to each other for a moment more, lost in remembrance.
The day after securing the school, Dean was adamant about returning home to retrieve his wife. The panic from the children gave him pause though, as they thought their saviour was about to abandon them just a day after clearing the undead on campus.
Dean was a trained Specialist Firearms Officer, and actually equipped with those weapons, having taken the small remaining stash from the constabulary HQ armoury. It was not much, but it was a far more pot
ent defence than most had, and the thought of their newfound protector disappearing and leaving them to their fate caused panic among the children, and their remaining teacher.
“What if we have an incursion of the undead again?” asked Graham, pushing his spectacles up his nose while blinking rapidly. Usually, his glasses were in no need of correcting, and it was more of a nervous habit.
“This school is out in the country, five miles from the nearest town, with the closest rural houses at least a mile away,” said Dean. “There’s unlikely to be a horde coming this way, as the nearby towns are still in the process of collapsing. Crenshaw’s grounds are surrounded by four feet thick and eight feet high hedgerows that a thinking human couldn’t get through - or over - without some serious effort and problem solving. Behind those is a ten-foot fence of metal bars encompassing the whole campus. Graham, this is probably one of the most secure locations remaining. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“What about looters, or the like?”
Dean swallowed down his frustration at the comment and kept his voice low, but it hardened to emphasise his point.
“Graham, you and I are the only adults on campus right now, and I need you to pull it together. The last thing I need is you putting the frights on these kids by making up a whole bunch of ‘what ifs’, okay?”
Chastised, the middle-aged teacher had nodded.
“Of course, of course, my apologies.”
Breathing calm in again, Dean softened his tone.
“I understand your anxiety, but you’re all going to have to get used to staying here and me being off site. I’m the only one with any training and experience, which means I’m going to have to do supply runs in the future. What I need you all to do while I’m gone this first time is make an inventory of everything we have in terms of food and medicine, okay? There’s a lot of mouths to feed here, and we’re going to have to get used to eating some pretty bland meals, but first thing we need to know is exactly what we do have.”
“Are you going to get Aunt Maria?” asked Sarah.
“How can he be your uncle?” piped up one boy, who Dean now knew to be Joseph. “He’s black and you’re ginger!”
A few of the other kids laughed nervously, and Dean was about to shoot the boy down, but Sarah beat him to the punch.
“See what happens when you let cousins marry?” she shrugged nonchalantly, throwing a casual thumb Joseph’s way, and rolling her eyes. The laughter was more genuine this time as Joseph was silenced by Sarah’s wit.
“My wife and I are Sarah’s godparents,” said Dean. “Her father and I were very close friends, and we’ve been in her life since she was born.”
Sarah’s smile wobbled for a moment as Dean said “were” and he cursed himself inwardly. There was nothing he could do about it now. This was life.
“Will Aunt Maria still be at home?”
“I rang her early yesterday morning when things were starting to get difficult and told her it was best to stay put, but you know what she’s like. If she sees someone in need she won’t hesitate, it’s just her way. Once the mobile networks and landlines went down, I couldn’t get hold of her anyway, and I came here for you at John’s request. Maria’s smart and resourceful. She can hang fire for a day or two, though I’d feel better with her here.” He looked around the canteen they all sat in. “This place seems like the best option to ride out the storm, so I need to go and get her, and bring her back here.” He turned and looked pointedly at Graham. “And not just because she’s my wife. She’s also the Senior Nurse Practitioner at Vale Infirmary, and pretty much runs the place when there is no supervising consultant on site.”
The notion of having a trained medical professional on campus definitely appealed to everyone.
“Could you do a final sweep of the grounds before you go?”
Again, Dean kept his voice calm, reminding himself that these people were mostly children, and scared, which they had every right to be. He was only human though, and the longer he left going after Maria, the more frustrated he became.
“I swept the whole grounds yesterday, Graham. Every last inch, every single building, one by one, room by room. The campus is clear of any walking dead, and all the living are in this room. Where my house is, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get all the way in my vehicle because likely some of the main roads will be snarled up, so I have to account for doing the last mile or so on foot. As you can imagine, it’s not like I can just sprint. I have to move slow, and careful, and vigilant. So, I need to go now, leaving me enough time for contingencies, and so I can get back long before dark.”
The words were delivered with a tone of silk but wrapped around an iron resolve. Dean was absolute in the desire to extract his wife from their home, and there was no way any argument would move him.
As anticipated, there was no possibility of driving the SUV to his front door. The primary junction he needed to take was impassable, with accident after accident piling together to make a mangled heap of ruined flesh and twisted metal. He could take another route to loop round the far side on a different road, but there was no guarantee the issues on that route were any less than the one facing him. It was best to approach on foot.
Dean had emptied his vehicle of all weapons, locking them in a room in the admissions building and handing the key to Graham for safekeeping during his absence. Everyone had been given strict warnings to stay away from the room. Firearms and explosives were no joke.
All Dean had brought with him was the G36C in hand and the Glock sheathed at his hip, with two spare magazines for both rifle and handgun. A light Kevlar vest was strapped to his chest rather than the heavier plate carrier he would wear for an SFO operation. He needed mobility and he was not used to going distances in the heavier IOTV. Providing no gun-wielding living came near him, which should be unlikely, it was superfluous anyway.
He attached a suppressor to the G36C’s barrel and had it primed to semi. Against any undead that ranged too close, he wanted noise at a minimum and single shots should be all he needed.
Inhaling a few deep breaths for courage, he made a quick sign of the cross on his body, whispered a silent prayer, and then locked the SUV. It was time to get his wife.
Signs of survivors were still around on the second day of the fall. Hurried individuals or small clusters of people darted in the distance, steering clear of each other out of fear, and the journey was a harrowing ordeal of undead to wade through. All the traffic accidents, and fights among the panicked living resulting in lethal injury - either by accident or design - had left clusters of undead roaming the streets. By the time he had gone half a mile, he was already switching out an empty magazine on the rifle and reloading. He could not afford to gun down every monster he laid eyes on, instead concentrating his efforts solely on the heavier clusters directly in his path, or ones that might impede his return journey if he did not deal with them now.
Hopefully, that return journey would be smoother, as the suppressed snap of the discharging rifle was far less intrusive than its usual echoing crack, and there were still other noises to distract and draw the undead. The eerie silence that would blanket the town over the coming weeks had not yet descended; panic and chaos were still very much in full flow.
Any path cleared now would make the return leg with Maria less taxing, so it was better to expend the rifle while he possessed the advantage of suppressed fire. On the way back, he would happily make a din with the Glock if it meant he and his wife could get to the SUV quickly and in one piece.
It was a relief when he finally turned on to his road and sprinted down the street, pausing only to crack a few shots at bloodied undead in his way. Drawing out his keys as he reached the door, he swept inside and closed it behind him, moving the rifle to his hip and drawing the Glock. Praying he would not have to put down a reanimated version of his wife, he sucked in a breath and called out Maria’s name.
Silence.
The earplugs were out so he could he
ar any little sound in the house, but there was nothing. No scrape of foot or bump of furniture, no relieved return of his call as Maria responded. There was only stillness.
He moved through the house, clearing the building one room at a time until finally he moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Taking out an unopened carton of orange juice, he twisted the cap and slaked his thirst, wondering where she had gone. There was no sign of a struggle in the house, which meant she had left of her own volition, probably to render aid to someone. It was her way, and one of the many reasons he loved her.
Dean’s eye was drawn to the mantlepiece where a photograph stood in pride of place. It was their wedding photo, taken twenty years earlier, both beaming with joy on their happiest of all days.
Placing the carton of juice aside, he dismantled the frame and took the photo out, kissing it and folding it once before sliding it into a pocket on his vest, all while fighting the burn of tears in his eyes.
Where had she gone?
He waited in the stillness of their home for almost four hours, whispering prayers for her to walk through the door, but they went unanswered. Heartbroken, Dean knew she was not coming home. With no idea where to begin a search and no means of contacting her, he resigned himself to the futility of waiting any longer.
Grabbing a large camping rucksack from the attic, he filled it with whatever food and medicine he could feasibly carry from the house, plus a few personal mementos, including the small leather-bound bible his father had given to him on his eighteenth birthday.
Lockey vs. the Apocalypse | Book 2 | We Will Rise [Adrian's Undead Diary Novel] Page 15