“I’m sorry, perhaps I wasn’t clear enough,” Lex said caustically, “I said no. We are not leaving without Chloe.”
“I’m afraid the matter is not up for debate, Alexis.”
‘Firstly, my name is Lex. Only my parents call me Alexis. Secondly, this is not a dictatorship.
You are not in charge. Thirdly …” her words were cut off by George, whose face was getting progressively redder.
“Listen to me, young lady …”
Lex slammed her fist on the table, knocking her mug over, coffee spilling across the pristine surface. “No. I will not listen to you,” She erupted with fury. “Chloe put her life at risk to save your daughter, and this is the thanks she gets? You should have gone to Heathrow yourself. Then Chloe would be safe.” Lex rose to her feet and stood over George, looking down at him with obvious disdain. “You, Mr Carlton, are a selfish coward and I... I am not losing anyone else.”
Claire let out a loud sob, jumped out of her chair and fled from the room.
George sat in shock. His mouth opening and closing like a fish. He turned to his daughter, “Sally, please talk to your friend. We need to leave as soon as possible.”
“No, Dad,” Sally replied gently, “Lex is right. Chloe saved us, and we can’t leave her behind. It wouldn’t be right. Would it Sam?”
Sam had watched the scene in silent amusement. Fair play to Lex for standing up to that man. She was right. He was a coward. Sending his PA to get his daughter. What a prick. “Sorry Mr Carlton, but I agree with Sally and Lex.”
“Fine,” George replied sulkily. “We will wait for Chloe. If, however, she is not here in two days then we will leave. Is that okay Al … Lex?”
“Fine,” She said, the anger and rage indicated by the scowl on her face and by her clenched fists. “I’m going to go and check on Claire. Then I’m going to bed.” She got up and stalked out of the room.
The only sound in the kitchen was that of a constant drip from the spilt coffee as it fell slowly from the table onto the tiled floor.
George sat, mouth open, wondering what had just happened. Sally intently studied her fingernails. Sam looked back and forth between the two, feeling more awkward than he had ever felt before.
“I’ll clean this up, shall I?” Sam jumped up, without waiting for a response. He took a cloth from the sink and returned to the table, bending down to clean up the mess. He took his time. Anything to avoid the awkwardness within the room.
When he finished, he stood up and made a show of stretching and yawning, “Um, I wouldn’t mind going to bed too. Is there somewhere I can sleep? Er please.”
Sally jumped up, relieved to have something to do. “Dad, I’ll show Sam to the guest room. Then I am going to bed. We’ll talk in the morning okay?” She leant down and kissed her father on the cheek. He grunted in response.
Sam followed Sally back into the large hallway and up the sweeping staircase.
“Jesus,” Sam exclaimed when he saw the long corridor with dozens of doors. “How many bedrooms do you have?”
“Seven,” Sally replied, and pushed open a door at the far right of the landing. “You can use this one. Claire and Lex will be next door, and my room is that one.” She pointed to the door opposite. They both stepped into the bedroom, and stared awkwardly at the bed.
“Um … Cheers,” Sam said and sat down on the bed. He bounced up and down a few times. “It’s comfy.”
“Is it? I’ve never actually slept on it.” She sat down next to him. “It is,” she agreed. “Although not as comfortable as mine,” She cringed as she said the words. That sounded a lot like an invitation. Sam pretended not to notice, and they fell silent. Both conscious of the awkwardness of the situation, but neither willing to say goodnight just yet.
“So, um … nice house.”
“Thank you for today.”
They both spoke at the same time, releasing the tension in the room and they both chuckled.
“You go first,” offered Sam.
“I just wanted to say thank you. You’ve been a massive help today and despite everything, it’s been good having you with us.”
“Honestly, Sal, I’m really glad I’m here. If you guys hadn’t taken me with you, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Sally felt a warmth rush through her at the shortening of her name. It sounded affectionate. A term of endearment. “So … we’ve helped each other then?” she suggesed, he nodded in agreement and they fell silent once more. Begrudgingly, she got to her feet. “Right, well, I guess I better go to bed.”
“Yep,” he nodded again and stood up, facing her.
“So, um … goodnight.”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
Neither moved. They remained standing, facing each other. Tension crackled between them. Sally broke first, unable to endure the knot in her stomach, the lump in her throat. She leant forward and planted a soft kiss on Sam’s cheek. She stepped back, measuring his reaction.
Sam had never had a problem picking up girls. He could chat and flirt with ease and confidence. In any other situation, his moves would have been instinctive and automatic. Now he was unsure. Lost. He didn’t know what to do or how to respond. So, he just stared back at her big brown eyes, that looked to him in uncertainty. The vulnerability he saw in them dictated his next move. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. She responded, her lips parting to encourage the kiss. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her towards him. He wanted to hold her. To protect her. To never let her go.
To have affection for another person was a new experience for Sam, and he savoured the moment. He breathed in her scent. Enjoying the warmth of her body as it pressed into his. This felt different. It felt real. A moment of bliss shared. Of affection exchanged between two young people in the middle of a nightmare, the thought of sex far from his mind. It is Sally that manoeuvred them towards the bed.
Throughout the night, they shared kisses and held each other tightly. They chatted and laughed quietly. For both, it was a night like no other. Eventually, they fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.
That was how Lex found them when she burst into the room the next morning. She showed no reaction to finding the two, still fully clothed, together on the bed. Her panic and fear outweighed any surprise at this situation.
“Get up. It’s Claire. She’s gone.”
Twenty-Three
Friday 20th September
Chloe,
Jonesy is dead. He was bitten. It was stupid, and it shouldn’t have happened. But there were so many of them. So many. Swarming us like locusts. We were winning. I just don't understand how it could have gone so horribly wrong.
The plan was conceptually simple, yet a logistical nightmare. It was stupid, but it went unchallenged. Work together to extend the perimeter. The infantry squadrons joined together to lead the assault. Imagine it, Clo, two parallel rows of soldiers stretching as far as the eye could see. You've been to Linthem and seen the guard house. That's where we started. Two rows, so when we had contact, the front line would open fire. Then they would fall back for the second line to provide cover as they reloaded.
Behind us were the guys responsible for clean-up. They'd quickly grab downed bodies, pile them up, then return for the next one. They kept the area clear for the Royal Engineers. Their job was to erect a moving perimeter. Literally a fucking moving fence. They had to carry the damned thing, ready to fix in place when we had reached the five-mile target. It was so heavy they had to be supported by civilians. There just wasn't enough of them to support the size of the fence they had to move.
Finally, bringing up the rear were the other squadrons, civilians, basically anyone physically capable of moving. These guys were in trucks that carried all the necessary materials for the fencing, as well as medical supplies and ammo. Runners were allocated to go between all three groups to resupply when needed.
Picture it, the engineers were set up in a three-sided rectangular shape. The fourth side of
the rectangle was the original camp.
So, as the longest side of the rectangle pushed forward with the moving perimeter fence, the two shorter sides would put static permanent fencing in place. Initially, the static fencing was barbed wire supported by hastily erected posts. Just enough to stop the zebs getting through. Further squadrons of Engineers would then fix more permanent, secure fencing in place. This was to go on for five miles, then the infantry and clean-up crews would fall back. The engineers would finish securing the perimeter, and we would have extended the camp. Simple, right?
There were so many flaws in this plan. I guess testament to how hastily it was put together. The first was the buildings. We would bunch up and provide cover while the Engineers would erect the side perimeters through back gardens. When that wasn’t possible, we'd have to wait while they put the barbed wire around the outside of the house and extend it back the width of the line.
This meant that the guys holding the moving perimeter would also need to bunch up to navigate around the buildings. So, while this was happening, the nice orderly rows fell into disarray, and it took too long to regroup.
Next was the zebs. Someone had severely underestimated the sheer number of zebs we would face. At first, things were going well. Small numbers, which we took out easily. I didn't even open fire for the first mile or so. But the sound of gunfire can echo over open land, drawing in zebs from miles around. By the time we reached The Plain, the numbers of zebs had increased significantly.
Then there was the communication. Or more accurately the complete lack of communication. No one had thought to give us radios to allow us to talk to the other end of the lines. While we started out in a perfect formation, the line soon began to curve in places, break in others.
Then because of the number of zebs, the clean-up crews weren't fast enough to remove the bodies for the engineers to progress the perimeter. So behind us, they were slowing down, but we didn't know. Without radios, no one could tell us, little point in shouting over the deafening sound of gunfire. We kept on pushing forward. As the gap grew, it created space for the zebs to breach the sides.
Zebs started coming in from the sides. Some of the clean-up crew were bitten. Their screams pierced the air, and finally, we knew something had gone wrong. But we couldn’t stop firing, we were doing everything we could to stop the masses coming in from the front. We could, however, stop moving forward. Which we did. We didn't wait for instructions. We held the frontline.
The Engineers had to abandon the mobile perimeter and take up arms. I tell you, Clo, those Engineers are tough bastards. They cleared the zebs behind us within minutes. Their aim must have been superb.
As far as I know, they didn't hit anyone on the frontline with a stray bullet. Nor was anyone attacked by a zeb. Damn impressive, given the situation. Imagine holding a rifle and shooting accurately, having, just seconds before, been holding bloody massive perimeter fencing.
We didn’t know it at the time, but the clean-up crew were ordered to fall back. That was the first thing that made sense all day, the bodies could be cleared after without unnecessary risk. But it did make the Engineer’s job harder because they had to step over dead bodies while keeping hold of an awkward and heavy fence.
We had taken out so many in front of us. Yet more were coming. There was blood everywhere. Flowing like a river. Runners were sent to tell us to carry on moving. The ground became slippery, which slowed us down. Navigating the bodies became almost impossible. Zebs relentlessly lunging at us. Bodies blocking our route. The road slick with blood. People fell, tripping over limbs, then slipping on blood.
I saw as Jonesy went down. He was grinning. He knew that if he made a fuss, we'd all take the piss later. He fell, he laughed, he went to get back up. But he was grabbed on the ankle by a zeb. One of those fucking crawlers. Someone had missed the head. The shot had knocked it off its feet, and the slickness of the road had stopped it from being able to get back up. Undeterred, it had just crawled toward us.
Before anyone could shoot the fucker, he had bitten Jonesy. I watched as his grin turned to into an expression of terror. Over the immense noise, I heard his scream as the dirty motherfucker bit into his calf. I shot it in the face. The head exploded, but it was too late. We could all see the blood on Jonesy's leg. We all knew what that meant. Our part of the line stopped. The row behind us gave us cover fire while we stood on in stunned silence.
Jonesy stopped screaming. All colour drained from his face, and a look of resignation settled on him. He knew what this meant.
He looked me in the eyes. I nodded at him. I know what he was asking. I told him to close his eyes, and as a solitary tear slid down his face, I pressed the trigger.
Not long after that, we were ordered to retreat. We had drills for this. The Engineers created gaps in the fence and the back row of infantry fell back first, then gave the front row cover fire so we could get through the gaps. Then while the Engineers secured the fencing, we took out as many as them fuckers as we could.
I'm told that we lost over five hundred men and women today. Military and civilian. And our reward? Not even two miles of ground gained.
I don’t know if we can win this thing.
I’m sorry, I can’t go on writing tonight. I need to time to digest what has happened.
I love you.
Steve xxx
Twenty-Four
It is the dawn sun shining through the window that wakes me. My back and neck are aching from the uncomfortable position in which I’ve slept. I’m still upright against the bedroom door.
I guess I was lucky. The zombies must have been distracted by something else. If they had found me, I wouldn’t have been able to hold the door.
It hasn’t been a restful sleep, I’ve dreamed of Sally. Of my arrival at George's, of her throwing her arms around me, sobbing while thanking me for saving them. But then while in my embrace, she changed, she grew taller, her hair shortened and changed from strawberry blonde to dark brown. She became Steve. He pushed me to the floor and walked away. I chased him and grabbed his arm. He turned to face me, only his eyes were black. He was infected.
I shudder as I remember the dream. I'm not superstitious. I don't believe in fortune tellers or fate. I certainly don't believe in dreams being a premonition of the future. But then a few days ago I hadn't believed in zombies either.
There’s absolutely nothing I can do about Steve, but I can get back to Sally. I think I’m about fifteen miles away. Sod walking. I probably didn't walk more than four miles yesterday, and my hips are aching this morning.
Right, so, number one priority is a car. As if in protest, my stomach lets out a growl.
Okay. Food. Car. Drive. Get there. Chill out.
Worry about surviving the zombie apocalypse tomorrow.
Plan formed. I get to my feet and quietly open the bedroom door. The little house is silent. I tiptoe across the landing, and at the top of the stairs, I pause, listening for signs of life downstairs.
Nothing. I creep down the stairs with exaggerated movements. If anyone could see me, I'm sure they’d be singing the Pink Panther theme tune. A step creeks and I freeze mid-stride. I wait for a few moments with my eyes closed. I listen intently. Nothing but silence. I resume my Pink Panther routine.
The first thing I see at the bottom of the stairs is that the door to the shop is open. Then I see the blood splattered on the walls and the floors. The vase that I nearly knocked over last night lies shattered on the carpet, the roses scattered around it. The sight of the discarded and blood-soaked flowers makes me shudder. It feels like an omen. A symbol of romance, now destroyed.
I use my foot to nudge the glass and the flowers out of the way. Then continue to look around. There is not as much blood as I would have thought. Shut in the room in the darkness last night, it sounded like Edna's entire body was being torn apart.
My fear must have played tricks on my mind. I'm no pathologist, but I would have thought a body ripped apart would have bled mo
re. Come to think of it, even with my lack of medical training, I would have thought a body ripped apart might have... well... left a body.
Edna is not here.
I consider the implications of this. Zombie bites human. Human turns zombie. But, everything I watched on the news implies that it would take at least twelve hours for the bitten person to change. It’s only been five or six since Edna was attacked. I think back, did the news say that twelve hours was for people infected by the initial terrorist attack, or was it for someone that was bitten?
I really miss Google. With search engines and the internet, retention of facts is now redundant. Has memory now become defunct? Would evolution eventually remove it as a core function of the human brain?
I realise that, not only am I digressing, but that it is now a moot point. From all I've witnessed over the past couple of days, I think it's safe to say that it will be a while before smart phones and search engines start working again.
Back to Edna, if it takes a minimum of 12 hours to turn, she should still be alive somewhere. Although, given the number of those things outside last night, she would probably be severely hurt. So, she’s probably somewhere in the house.
I take a quick peek around the door to the shop. It is empty. Closing the door to give me some protection from the outside, I look around the rest of the downstairs. It doesn't take long, because it's a small house. I head back upstairs.
There’s only a bathroom and bedroom up here. Other than the guest room, but I'm fairly certain I'd have noticed if she’d come in the bedroom last night.
I check the remaining rooms. Nothing. Not even a single spot of blood. Ah ha, blood! I can follow the trail of blood. I run back down the stairs and look at the floor. The blood is more concentrated in one spot. This is likely to be where Edna fell. I think back to every episode of Dexter I've ever watched. Dexter was a blood spatter expert that worked on crime scenes with the police to help catch the murderer. He was also a serial killer, but that's neither here nor there.
Safe Zone (Book 1): The Greater Good Page 21