“Yeah sure. There was another jerry can in the shed as well. I’ll grab that in a minute.” He measures out the length of hosepipe. “George, do you have any scissors?” I stifle a laugh. George jumps at being addressed by Sam. He dashes over to a drawer next to the sink, pulls out a pair of kitchen scissors and wordlessly hands them to Sam. That is the fastest I have ever seen him move. I don't know what went on in that office, but it would appear that Sam has put the fear of God in George.
I return to the maps and realise the flaw in the two-car plan.
I only have one map that covers the various routes and with no power, I can’t photocopy them or take a picture on a phone. The lead car will have to take the map. The car following will just need to know the general route. A military base the size of Linthem should be signposted from the A34. Assuming we stay on the A34, that is.
Sally is next to enter the kitchen. “I've put everything by the front door, except…”
“Did you pack trousers?” Lex interrupts, without looking at Sally.
“Yep and…”
“Good, and jumpers?”
“Yes.”
“Clothes for your dad?”
“Yes.”
“Did you...?”
“Lex, I packed underwear, including socks and bras, t-shirts, spare shoes, Tampax, hair brush, hair ties and towels, basically everything you put on the list. I also…”
“Great,” Lex says, stretching up to retrieve something from the top shelf of a cupboard, completely oblivious to Sally's indignant tone.
“I also found some rucksacks, which I thought we could put stuff in rather than carrier bags.”
Lex turns to look at Sally, “That’s a really good idea.”
“Thank you,” Sally replies with an air of sarcasm in her tone.
We know the route. We have spare clothes and personal items. We have, by the looks of the piles of bags in the kitchen, plenty of food. Sam found an axe, and we have the shotgun. I guess some of the table legs we used to escape the airport are still in the Audi.
It doesn't feel enough. We’ll be in cars from almost the moment we leave the house. But not much has gone to plan so far, so it's better to be prepared.
“George, do you have any more shotguns?” I ask. He turns to face me, and seems jumpy, nervous at being addressed. For the first time today, I look at him. Really look at him. His eyes have a wild look to them. He can't hold my gaze, and his eyes flick around. His hands are held together in front of him. He pulls at his fingers, like a scared child that is up to no good.
“George,” I soften my tone, “Are you okay?” He nods vigorously and points towards the kitchen door.
“Shotguns. Study,” he says, his head still nodding.
“I'll get them,” Sally offers and leaves the kitchen straightaway. It seems like everyone is relishing having something to do. A task, however menial, is better than sitting and thinking.
So that's everything then. Food, clothing, weapons. Am I missing anything? There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm nervous. No, I'm scared. I'm taking four people out there so that I can see my boyfriend. It sounds pathetic. Whatever happens is on me, so I need to give them another chance to back out. The girls and Sam have been out there and know what’s at stake. George might be a problem. Even though Sally has left the kitchen, George is still nodding and pointing at the door.
“Er George... um... you can sit down now.” Almost like an obedient dog, he takes a seat, then turns to me as though he's expecting another instruction. What the fuck has happened to this man? How could someone break so quickly? His actions this morning are almost childlike. Is it right to take him with us? If he doesn't snap out of it, he could be a danger to himself and to us.
Sally returns to the kitchen, balancing two cases with six or seven small boxes on top. I can only assume they are the shotgun shells. Sam goes to her and takes the cases and the boxes from her. He puts them down on the table and opens one of the black cases. He leans in gently as though cooing over a baby and lovingly picks one of the shotguns up. It’s long and looks awkward to hold. Only George and Sam can shoot, and we have three shotguns. I’m not sure giving one to George is a good idea in his current state.
“Sam, could you show us how to shoot them?” I ask. He nods back enthusiastically. “Yeah, course. They're easy to shoot, but really, they are only any good at close range. They will cause a shitload of damage though so you don’t need to worry too much about accuracy.”
“Okay. George, can you get the food packed into the rucksacks please? Sally, Lex, we’ll go out into the garden with Sam.” George dutifully rises from the chair and heads over towards the stove. I know he is probably more experienced than Sam, but I just don’t think given him a weapon in his current state is a good idea.
It’s warm in the garden. The little breeze that flows through the air makes the leaves in the trees rustle gently. Otherwise, it’s silent out here.
“How loud are these things?” I ask Sam.
“Very.”
“Maybe just show us the principles of shooting and reloading. It might not be a good idea to make a lot of noise.”
Sam looks sharply at me. “No, you need to have a go at firing them. They’ve got quite a kick, you could hurt yourself if you aren’t prepared.”
An image of a little foot coming out of the gun and kicking me in the face pops into my mind. Embarrassingly it takes me a few seconds to realise he means the recoil. Thankfully I never spoke, so instead, I nod knowingly, “Mmm, yes, good point.”
Sam talks us through the components of the gun, and he calls out the various names of the different parts, then shows us to how to break and reload it. He explains how the shells are made of tiny balls of shot that spread out once fired. He talks for over twenty minutes until we are finally allowed to take turns holding the gun.
I go first. The second I touch the gun, everything Sam has just said is forgotten. I rest the gun on the top of my shoulder. My right hand is on the trigger and my left hand a few inches away, holding it upright. It feels ungainly and uncomfortable.
“This feels awkward,” I complain to Sam. To his credit, he doesn’t laugh. He just comes over and corrects me. He takes my right hand from the trigger then moves the gun down, so it is nestled into my shoulder. He places my left hand further down the gun.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much,” I agree.
“Good.” He nods, then his face takes on a serious expression. He turns to Lex and Sally, who are watching. “Never have your finger resting on the trigger until you are ready to shoot.”
I feel like I’ve just been told off.
“Put your weight on your front leg. You’ll have better control.”
I swing around to face him, “Like this?”
Sam instinctively jumps out of the way of the barrel that is pointing right at him
“Never, ever, point a gun at someone that you are not going to shoot.” he says. This time I know I have been told off.
“Oh, sorry. It’s not loaded, though.”
“No Chloe. I know that it’s not loaded because I’ve checked it. Unless you’ve checked for yourself, you must always assume it is loaded.”
I nod guiltily, turn away from him and practise aiming.
We spend the next hour with the three of us taking turns at quickly getting into a firing position. Then learning how to reload. Sam stands by and observes us. As we become more confident, his comments and corrections become less frequent.
Again, I go first. I reload, then quickly assume the firing position. Sam points out a tree in the distance for me to aim for. I do so, then I gently squeeze the trigger.
Holy shit. That is loud. The boom reverberates in my ears. Although the recoil isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, it does make me feel like I’ve been punched.
“That was good, Chloe, well done.” Sam smiles at me. I grin at his praise and then hand the gun over to Lex.
I rub my shoulder as I watch Lex and Sally tak
e their turns. I’m worried about the noise we’re making. If those things are attracted to sound, they will be headed over here now. The risk is worth it. I wouldn’t want my first shot to be taken in a life or death situation. Now at least I know what to expect.
We head back inside. George is sitting back down at the kitchen table. He’s finished loading the rucksacks and they are lined up by the door. There are even four mugs of coffee waiting on the table for us.
“Cheers, George,” I say and hold my mug up to him in thanks. He nods back silently.
“I think we are ready,” I announce, once everyone is sitting down. “Before we go. I just want to make sure that you are certain that you want to come. It will be dangerous, and we don’t even know if Steve will be there. You could all be putting yourselves at risk for no reason.”
“We are coming,” Lex says firmly. “We know the risks. But from now on we stick together. Okay?” She looks at Sally and Sam, who both nod in agreement. “George?” She turns to the older man. He looks back at her, but doesn’t reply.
“Dad?” Sally asks, adopting a gentle tone, as though she were addressing an infant. “You’re happy to come, aren’t you?” It’s a statement, not a question. He continues to stare at her, but does not say a word.
I choose to take this as consent, “Great,” I say. “And… I guess… thank you. This means a lot to me and…” My words break off, as I realise how much it does really does mean. Until a few days ago I barely knew Lex, and Sam was a stranger. Now they are throwing away the relative safety that this big house offers, for me. The thought brings a lump to my throat.
“Chloe, for everything that we’ve been through over the last few days, everyone in this room is like family to me now,” Sally says, and reaches across the table to take my hand in hers, “But you… for years you’ve been like a mother to me. For everything you’ve done for me, before all of this, and after what you did to come and get us from Heathrow. You didn’t even need to ask. I love you, Clo.”
The tears threaten as I realise she has just used the exact same words as the last ones that Steve said to me. “Thank you.” I reply, “I love you too, Sal.”
Never again will I leave those words unsaid.
Twenty-Nine
Sam sat at the table in the large kitchen, enjoying the sense of belonging, the first that he’d felt since his parents had died. The hot cup of coffee warmed his hands, while the conversation surrounding him warmed his heart. It was his blossoming feelings for Sally that made it so easy for him to agree to go with Chloe. Yet her words struck a chord. He hadn’t known these people for very long, but what they’d shared in that short time had created a lifelong bond. Despite all that he had lost, and all that this life had become, he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else than here right now.
A silence descended over the room as the five of them finished their coffee. They each took this moment. This time of peace and inactivity. It was an opportunity to think, to reflect. The serenity was eventually broken.
Chloe announced that they should get the cars loaded up and begin their journey.
Sam collected the mugs from the table and rinsed them out in the sink. He stacked them up on the draining board and considered whether to bother drying them, but decided against it. Instead, he joined the others in taking the supplies out to the car. Chloe was outside surrounded by bags of supplies. She appeared to be splitting the contents in half.
“Are we taking two cars?” Sam asked, as he looked doubtfully over at the Ford KA, then back over to the piles of bags.
“Yes. George has a Range Rover. We’ll take that and the Honda,” she replied. She tossed a set of keys to him. “Here, can you drive the Range Rover with Sally and George? Lex and I will go in the Honda.”
“Yeah … but … um … where is it?” he asked, looking around as though the car might suddenly appear.
“Garage. Just over there,”
Chloe answered and pointed towards the side of the big house. “The garage keys are on the car keys.”
Sam didn’t ask why George wasn’t going to be driving his own car. He didn’t need to. The older man was just standing dumbly next to Chloe, awaiting instruction. He jogged over to the garage, unlocked the door and let out a low whistle. The Range Rover was a beautiful beast of a car. The license plate told him that it was less than twelve months old. It looked robust and reliable. Perfect for the coming journey.
Lost in thoughts of admiration for the car, he didn’t hear Sally approach. Without a word, she stepped over to him and pulled him to her. Their lips met, and they shared a tender kiss. After a long moment, Sally pulled away and stared up at him.
“I meant what I said in there,” she whispered softly, “I know we’ve not known each other for very long and, well, things didn’t get off to a good start…”
“I was a dick,” Sam stated.
“Yes, you were,” she agreed with a smile, “but despite all of that, I like you, Sam. I really do, and I… just need you to know that.”
“I like you too, Sally,” his brown eyes gazed down warmly at hers. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone.” He took in a deep gulp of air, “In fact… I think I’m falling in love with you.”
She held his gaze, wordlessly staring up at him. It was too long and the silence became unbearable, the atmosphere strained and awkward. He cursed inwardly at his stupidity. “That is… erm… I know we don’t know each other. It’s stupid, actually. Forget I just said that.” He felt the blush creep up his cheeks. She must think he is a right idiot now.
“Sam,” eventually she spoke, “we barely know each other. We only met eight days ago. We have very little in common…” Her words sent daggers to his heart. He hung his head, breaking away from the intensity of her stare, “but I think I’m falling in love with you too.”
It was as though a physical change was taking place within his body. His heart expanded and threatened to burst from his chest. A warmth flowed through him, and a huge grin lit up his face. He pulled her to him in an embrace so passionate, yet already so familiar, and the kiss they shared was pure perfection.
They broke apart quickly when they heard footsteps heading towards them. They looked shamefaced as Lex entered the garage. She absorbed the situation and guessed what she had just interrupted.
“Thought you’d got lost,” she admonished with a smile. “But I can see you were just busy.”
“We’re ready now,” Sam said, unable to remove the grin. “I’ll bring the car out.”
Sally and Lex headed back outside, and he could see they were talking rapidly. No doubt Sally was relaying the words that had just been spoken. He didn’t mind. In fact, it just solidified the moment they had just shared. His happiness was all consuming.
Regaining composure, he got in the car. After arranging the seat to suit his long frame, he inserted held the key, perplexed as he found nowhere to put it, and took a gamble on the button labelled “Start” high on the dash.
Nothing. Putting his foot on the brake he tried again and the engine purred into life, prompting a satisfied smile from him as though he had just invented something new. Slowly he backed the car out of the garage.
Away from the dark hue of the garage, the sunlight of the day made him blink. It was another gorgeous, early autumn day. He pulled the car up next to the Honda and jumped out.
Together they loaded up both cars, splitting the food and general supplies as evenly as possible between the two vehicles, George taking instruction, but no initiative, while the rest of them, eager to be on their way, worked quickly.
Chloe suggested that she and Lex would take the lead, and she gave Sam a look at the maps she had marked up.
“I’m never going to remember that,” he said.
“I know. If we happen to lose each other, just follow the A34. It’ll be signposted.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
Chloe gave him two of the shotguns and five boxes of shells. “Don’t give one to George,” she warned with
a whisper. Instinctively they both turned towards him. He was standing and staring at a point in the distance, his face blank, devoid of expression.
“I won’t,” Sam promised.
He climbed into the Range Rover, passing the two shotguns over to Sally. He put four of the boxes of shells in the pocket of the driver’s door. The other he opened and divided between himself and Sally.
“Put these in your pocket,” he advised. She followed his instruction and split the shells between her left and right pockets. Then she settled back in the seat and put on her seatbelt. George got into the rear of the car. If he was annoyed that a stranger was driving his car, or that he was seated in the back, he did not comment.
“Ready?” Sam asked.
Sally glanced back at her father; he was wearing a seatbelt, his eyes glazed as he stared straight ahead. “Yes,” she confirmed. She reached over to Sam’s leg and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s go.”
~
It was dusk when they arrived on Friday night. Now it was daylight and the long driveway glimmered in the sun. It looked calm and serene, a normal day. But he was driving a car owned by the man sitting silently in the back. The girl he had shared a tender moment with just shortly before, had her hand on his knee. The day was anything but normal.
Sally's touch felt warm and comforting, yet the trepidation of what they would face on the journey ahead of them built as they got closer to the open gates. “Erm … we probably should have shut those gates,” he said.
“God, yes,” she replied, the shock at their stupidity evident in her voice, “We need to start thinking more about these things.”
“Er yeah,” Sam agreed, “Look,” He pointed at the solitary figure that was walking slowly towards the cars. The fact it was a zombie was without question.
The clothes were dirty with a combination of mud and blood. The jeans were torn away at the ankle, exposing a large open wound. An idea occurred to Sam, and he flashed the car lights at the Honda, and pulled to a stop.
The car in front stopped a few feet ahead. Sam took one of the shotguns from Sally and jumped out of the car. He jogged quickly over to Chloe.
Safe Zone (Book 1): The Greater Good Page 26