Flowers Vs. Zombies: The Complete Series

by Perrin Briar

  “Chow.”

  “Chow?” Ernest said with a frown.

  “Chow,” Jim said again, as if in confirmation.

  Why Jim might be saying it, and in what context, puzzled Ernest. Jim was probably just dreaming or hallucinating… And yet it frustrated Ernest. Nothing was random in the universe—nothing. Everything obeyed a series of rules. If you could understand the rules, you could understand the underlying truth of anything. Chow was a piece of a puzzle, a piece hidden away in Jim’s subconscious. Ernest filed the puzzle away for further contemplation later.

  “Chow,” Jim said again, through lips that barely parted.

  “I know, I know,” Ernest said. “I heard you. But what the hell does it mean?”

  “It means diddly squat is what it means,” Fritz said, resting his head in his hand. “You should know better than to think there’s any meaning in something someone says when they’re unconscious or otherwise incapacitated.”

  “Incapacitated!” Ernest said. “Have you been reading the dictionary again?”

  “I have to, if I want to understand you half the time,” Fritz said.

  Ernest chuckled. He did talk like an academic book a lot of the time. They were what he surrounded himself with. He refused to stop studying, and so he ended up having conversations with himself about academic subjects, taking first one side in an argument, and then another, and then finally battling with himself on both sides.

  The world would need science again one day. Probably needed it already. And those with the ability to think logically would be the ones to rebuild it. Knowledge would be a valuable resource in the future, every bit as much as the minerals they could dig up out of the soil.

  “Why would Jim say that?” Fritz said.

  “I don’t know,” Ernest said.

  “This whole situation puts us in a pretty pickle with the natives, doesn’t it?” Fritz said.

  “Yes,” Ernest said. “But there’s potential too.”

  “Where?” Fritz said. “I don’t see anything useful in this.”

  “There are natives nearby,” Ernest said. “We could trade with them. Maybe they’re in contact with the outside world.”

  “If they are, it’s a wonder they haven’t been turned into those undead monsters already,” Fritz said.

  “Maybe their relative seclusion is working in their favor,” Ernest said.

  “But even they might not be totally safe,” Fritz said.

  “What do you mean?” Ernest said.

  “Why do you think they’ve been making sacrifices?” Fritz said. “It might have something to do with the Lurchers taking over the world and making their life difficult now.”

  It was a good point, but not one they were likely to ever find out.

  They woke Jack up, dressed, and headed down to breakfast, leaving Jim still mumbling under his breath.

  “Chow,” he said. “Chow. Chow.”

  Just what we’re about to do, Ernest thought. Get some chow.

  Chapter Eight

  THE BOYS got downstairs to find Liz making breakfast.

  “How’s Jim?” Liz said.

  “The same,” Ernest said.

  “He’ll need to be fed after breakfast,” Bill said. “Soup is best.”

  “I’ve already put some on,” Liz said. “Scotch Broth okay?”

  “Perfect,” Bill said.

  “Scotch Broth?” a voice behind them said. “Is that what I can smell?”

  Rupert hobbled across the clearing toward the dining table, the squat figure of Manuel at his heels. Manuel didn’t avert his eyes nor look away, but he didn’t meet the gaze of the others either. Something was up there, Bill thought. Perhaps Rupert was right and it had been the shock of seeing so much death in the new world. Or maybe it was something deeper…

  “Sleep well?” Bill said.

  “Very well,” Rupert said. “We hadn’t slept well for a month or more. Since we were taken aboard the The Red Flag, come to think of it. There’s little chance of sleeping well when you know someone would slit your throat any moment.”

  Manuel took a seat and didn’t offer much in the way of conversation. He was broad and stout about the chest, stomach and arms. Not a man you’d ever want to get on the wrong side of.

  “Did you manage to administer the medicine all right last night?” Bill said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Rupert said. “Here’s the bottle, as promised.”

  There was a glint in his eye and a playful cast to his grin.

  “Fine home you’ve got here,” Rupert said. “Much more beautiful in the daylight.”

  “Thanks,” Bill said. “You should have seen our last one.”

  “You had another home before this one?” Rupert said.

  “Yes, but then we were overrun by the undead,” Bill said.

  Rupert nodded.

  “We’ve seen the same all over,” he said. “I’m surprised you managed to survive. It’s rare that survivors emerge from the attacks. Alive, at least.”

  Bill shrugged.

  “We got lucky,” he said.

  The group dug into the food gathered in the center of the table. A veritable feast.

  “Have you seen many other survivors on your travels?” Fritz said.

  “Some,” Rupert said. “The lucky ones are in a similar situation to the one you’ve got here. Food, water, defenses. But they can never hope to keep the undead back forever. You need to set up a community large enough to allow for not just survival, but to proliferate, advance, develop. It’s the only way any civilization can hope to rebuild itself in the new world. Maybe it has always been like that. I don’t know. I’m not much of a thinker.”

  He spooned large helpings onto his and Manuel’s plate. Manuel needed constant care and attention. Bill could respect the man who cared for someone like that. It was refreshing, and not something Bill would have thought Rupert was capable of if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. But Manuel was at least able to feed himself, though he used his hands like they were made of thick wood rather than highly developed delicate instruments.

  “Why do the natives come to this island to murder people?” Bill said.

  “They consider this island holy,” Rupert said. “They perform sacrificial rites here. Have for generations. Do you mind if I have second helpings? I haven’t eaten properly in weeks, and this is absolutely delicious.”

  Liz glanced at Bill, who nodded.

  “We usually stick to a strict diet,” Bill said. “Strict portion control. But as this is a special day and you’re special guests, we thought we’d celebrate.”

  “You’re most kind,” Rupert said.

  “After this, we’ll be returning to our usual diet,” Bill said.

  “Look forward to learning about it,” Rupert said, stuffing his face.

  Living on an island like this with limited resources meant the family had to be careful about how much they ate, what they re-planted and grew. A simple thing like too much rain could kill everything they had planted and set them back, forcing them to have to start again. It was a difficult balancing act to maintain.

  They had only really just gotten used to how they had to live on this island. It wasn’t like they had lots of experience of sustainable farming before they came here. They had to learn as they went along. Everything took time, and without modern technology, things always took a lot longer. But they worked hard, knuckled down, and had achieved a great deal over a relatively short period of time.

  Becoming an expert in something meant making all the necessary mistakes associated with learning, so the same mistakes did not have to be made again. It made sense to Bill’s mind to make those mistakes as soon and as quickly as possible, so the pain could be overcome and the fun part could be ushered in.

  “I thought I would take you on a tour of the island today,” Bill said. “Show you how we live our lives here.”

  “Sounds great,” Rupert said, grinning around a rasher of bacon.

  Chapter Nine


  SURVIVAL in any situation depended on careful repetition of a set of actions that contribute to one’s state of continued survival. Food, maintenance of protection, including housing and defense measures, as well as any other related activities.

  It was while Bill was feeding the pigs that he saw Rupert come walking around the treehouse, looking up at the structure, the surrounding farmland, and areas the family had set up for their own survival.

  They rounded the stables—Rupert and Manuel were already well acquainted with that building as they had spent the night there—and up to the stream where they washed themselves most mornings. Then Bill took them up Sharpie’s mountainside to show the bamboo pipes that fed fresh water to Falcon’s Nest.

  It was a short walk then to Sharpie’s peak that overlooked the entire island, what was their world. It was a reasonable sized island and the family had explored most of its landscape. Manuel was silent, never showing surprise or excitement. Rupert more than made up for him by asking all the questions he could think of.

  There was no question or thought he left unturned. He seemed very interested in the internal workings of the island. Bill went on to discuss things he hadn’t thought he would need to, but was nonetheless excited to do so—like the weather cycle of the island, how it was dry for long periods, so the family had to ensure they kept a store of water at all times—in case of drought.

  They did not know how long the spring water would last, and were concerned that it was their only source of pure drinking water, which was why they had discovered another source a little farther away. It was Bill’s intention to build a vat that would contain some of it until such a time as they might require it.

  “You’ve done a fine job here, Bill,” Rupert said.

  “Thank you,” Bill said. “It took a lot of effort but finally, we have somewhere we can begin to call home.”

  “And what is this island called?” Rupert said.

  “We don’t know it’s real name,” Bill said. “But we call it New Switzerland.”

  Rupert smiled at that.

  “And I hope it turns out to be just as prosperous as the original country,” he said.

  “We’re working on the banking system,” Bill said. “But it might take awhile to get the interest of relevant customers.”

  Rupert chuckled.

  “This place is a goldmine, a dream, in an ocean of death and decay,” Rupert said. “I wish everyone were as fortunate as you and your family, to have landed on you feet so adeptly.”

  “It only takes hard work and patience,” Bill said. “Anyone is capable of achieving what he have if they are only willing to put in the work.”

  “Yes,” Rupert said. “I can see that. All it takes is one man to have a vision and share it with others who believe in him, who want to make it a reality. Sometimes it’s used for good purposes, other times not. I suppose there’s only one more question for me to ask you.”

  “What’s that?” Bill said.

  “What should we do here?” Rupert said.

  It was a question Bill hadn’t given much thought.

  “What can you do?” Bill said.

  “We can work, can help you build these things you have plans for,” Rupert said.

  “I don’t really have plans,” Bill said. “Only what’s in my head.”

  “Then you’ll just need to tell us what to do,” Rupert said with a warm smile. “We want to pay our way here. We have no intentions of making life difficult for you. We want everything to be smooth and easy. We’re in your debt for saving our lives and taking us in. The least we can do is help you and your family live a more comfortable life. Will we stay here indefinitely? I don’t know. That’s up to you, your family, and us.”

  Bill smiled and extended his hand.

  “So long as you’re always willing to offer a hand, there will always be a place for you here,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Rupert said.

  He glanced at Manuel. He looked blankly out at the sea, at the undulating waves, and shifted his feet side to side as if he wanted to go swim in it.

  “Manuel feels the same way,” Rupert said. “Though he’s unable to express his gratitude. But he’s a good worker. Let him express it through calluses on his hands.”

  “Fair enough,” Bill said. “What is wrong with him, anyway? I would guess some kind of regressive disorder.”

  “Nothing quite so simple, I’m afraid,” Rupert said. “He was as normal as you or I when we first met, if a little on the quiet side. And then, as time went by and he saw what the world had done to itself, he went further and further inside himself.”

  Bill suddenly felt sorry for the way he thought Manuel had a sinister air, the way he assumed he would do harm if left to his own devices. Bill was a doctor, and he should have known there were certain ailments where you really could not control the way you were, the way you thought and felt. It was simply the way it was.

  Bill gave Manuel a smile, but it was not reciprocated.

  “Helping us out might land you in hot water with the natives,” Rupert said. “It would make sense for us to focus on developing security systems to stop them, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” Bill said.

  “I used to work in security,” Rupert said. “I think I told you that already. I’m sure I could be a big help.”

  “When do you want to begin?” Bill said.

  “No time like the present,” Rupert said. “First I’ll need to see what you already have in place here.”

  “Follow me,” Bill said.

  Chapter Ten

  THE WIRES hung from the trees, disappearing into the distant clutches of the jungle. They hooked up to a series of bells in Falcon’s nest. An early warning system for when the undead came stumbling toward them. Rupert was looking at it with an appraising eye.

  “What do you think?” Bill said. “You’re the security expert.”

  “Very good,” Rupert said.

  Bill’s chest swelled.

  “I’m sure it could stand against the undead very well,” Rupert said. “But anyone with half a brain could see it and figure out what it is and how to avoid it.”

  Bill deflated.

  “That’s all we’ve had to deal with up till now,” he said in his defense.

  “Yes,” Rupert said. “But now you have a potential new enemy. A smart one.”

  “What do you suggest?” Bill said.

  “The problem with the natives is they’re not like the slobbering stupid lumbering undead who would fall into a trap even if they saw it,” Rupert said. “The natives are human.”

  Rupert plucked a wire. It jittered. Right now, a bell would be ringing in Falcon’s Nest. Bill had already warned his family that they would be checking out the security systems. Hopefully they wouldn’t come running with weapons drawn.

  “We should take all this down?” Bill said.

  “Negative,” Rupert said. “We should upgrade what we already have. Better to have simple defences like this and to upgrade them instead of strip ourselves of all defences.”

  “What do you suggest?” Bill said.

  “First, we should hide these wires better under the foliage,” Rupert said.

  “You think the natives wouldn’t spot them like that?” Bill said dubiously.

  “Of course they would,” Rupert said. “They will definitely see the trap—no matter what we do with them.”

  “Then what’s the point in wasting time in hiding the wires better if they will see them anyway?” Bill said.

  “Because we want them to think we’re incompetent, careless,” Rupert said.

  “I’m still not seeing the point of all this,” Bill said.

  Rupert smiled victoriously.

  “That’s because you’re not thinking like the people who will come across these traps,” Rupert said. “They’re experts at setting traps, and will easily see what you’ve done here. The real trick is to lull them into a false sense of security and hit them with th
e real trap. For example, another wire, this one running adjacent to the first one. They will find the first one for sure, and then tell the others to continue forward. They trip the second wire, alerting us to their location.”

  “Ingenious,” Bill said. “A double bluff.”

  “Except there is no bluff here,” Rupert said. “There is still the trap, and they will set it off. Which gives me another idea. We ought to set up walls.”

  “Walls?” Bill said. “That’ll give them somewhere to attack us from. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “You’re still not thinking like the natives, Bill,” Rupert said. “Imagine you came through the jungle. You think the people here are incompetent based on the wire trap you found. Then you come across a series of walls. What do you do?”

  Bill shrugged.

  “Use the walls against us,” he said. “Use them as protection in order to launch an attack.”

  “Right,” Rupert said. “Do you see the opportunity?”

  Bill frowned. No, he didn’t. And then the wrinkles in his brown relaxed.

  “They will use the walls, so we know where they’ll be,” he said.

  “Precisely,” Rupert said. “So we’ll install something on the wall to dispose of them.”

  Bill shook his head and grinned.

  “We’re lucky we have you here,” he said.

  “You’re unlucky you need me,” Rupert said.

  “Touché,” Bill said.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE WORK was hard, backbreaking labor. They were working to install the walls that would act as their defense, as well as a means of attack.

  The work they were doing would take just half a day with a JCB, but they were stuck with hand tools, shovels made from coconut husks, nails from thorn trees. Bill used a natural glue he had harvested from the Jambu trees, an excretion he developed so it would stick to just about anything. The first time he had developed it, he had accidentally glued his shirt to his hammer.

  Despite the strength of the glue, the shovel handles were relatively weak. After just a few hours, they splintered, and then snapped off completely. Bill attached another handle, made from the hardy bamboo from the west side of the island. This too, Bill felt, would not last long. But there was an infinite supply of bamboo, and it could replenish faster than they could use it. It was a shame other resources weren’t as infinite.