by Earl, C. A.
‘Bloody hell’ said Chris, pointing to his right ankle. ‘I’m already tagged, Phil.’
‘Call me Marshall; everyone else does. Look, I know it seems like overkill but this is just an extra precaution. It was either this or they would have had to keep you locked up indefinitely. If they hadn’t discovered the other immunees then that’s pretty much what would have happened. You do realise how big this is, don’t you, Chris? You might hold the key to getting rid of the virus completely.’
‘Yeah, so the scientists keep telling me. Makes me wonder what would have happened if we’d had any problems on the way over here, though.’
Marshall smirked. ‘Don’t worry. You were still being looked after, even if you didn’t know it.’
Chris’ eyes widened. ‘Not Nigel? The librarian?’
‘You mean Sergeant Peterson. Yes, he had your back. Plus we had another vehicle five minutes behind you.’
Chris shook his head. ‘Shit, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all this cloak and dagger stuff.’
‘Your safety is paramount, Chris. You’ll have your freedom here but we won’t...we can’t...have you doing anything suicidal.’
‘Hey, I just want to help, that’s all.’
‘And you will. Come with me. I’ll give you the guided tour and then you can choose whatever you want to do here. No out-of-compound missions, though.’
Marshall led the youngster within listening distance of the group of new arrivals that were now seated beneath the giant gazebo. As they passed by, Chris heard names being called and an array of different jobs being assigned. If you were a builder or a plumber or an electrician, the apocalypse certainly provided opportunities.
‘This is a bit frustrating for me’ said Chris, as the two men headed toward a large fenced-off area containing half a dozen chickens. ‘I don’t have any trade to offer but I did get pretty good at fighting the dead. I’m pretty handy with an axe these days. Are you sure-’
‘Sorry, Chris. Can’t risk it. Nice try, though...’
The youngster gave a slow nod before a familiar sound caught his attention, making him look around.
‘What’s that? Is that barking?’
‘Oh, that’s the kennels’ replied Marshall, waving a hand over toward a narrow brick building with a corrugated roof. ‘We’ve got a few serving dogs here, as well as a few strays. Some of the people here like having them around. It keeps morale up, reminds them how things used to be.’
‘Uh, can I see? I mean, if you need someone to look after them then maybe that’s something I could do.’
Marshall nodded. ‘I don’t see why not. We’ve got someone called Andy who takes care of all the animals but there are quite a few here. There are pigs and sheep over the other side and a couple of horses too. Thinking about it, I’m pretty sure Andy would appreciate the help. Come with me.’
Following the soldier over the worn ground, Chris tried his best to keep his emotions in check. It seemed like ages since the traumatic events in Shoreham, when he lost sight of Pepper amid a mass of groaning zombies. If by some miracle she managed to survive then maybe there was a chance that she was brought here. His heart was thumping as he climbed the chunky step outside the entrance to the makeshift building. Moving just ahead of him, Marshall opened the outer door and peered inside.
‘Andy, are you in here?’
When there was no reply other than a chorus of barks, Marshall held the door open for Chris to follow and then pushed aside an internal chain-link gate. Now louder than ever, the noise of the dogs was ringing through Chris’ head and he was struggling to hear what Marshall was saying.
The long building had a solid floor of concrete with what looked like seven or eight pens on either side. Staying close behind the other man, Chris moved along the length of the walkway, looking left and right. The first five enclosures contained serving Alsatians; a couple of them more than a little intimidating. The next two pens were empty, and the two after that were occupied by a small, snaggle-toothed black dog and an old, cloudy-eyed Dalmatian. Finally, the last few pens housed a Jack Russell terrier and some other smaller breeds.
Chris’ heart sank. Normally pessimistic in nature, he had opened himself up to optimism and now he felt the crushing loss of Pepper all over again. With a lump in his throat, he crouched down and put his fingers through the grill of the Jack Russell’s pen. The little dog immediately wagged its tail and ran to its bed in the corner to pick up a ball. Chris sniffed as the animal returned to him, dropping the ball just out of reach of his fingers.
‘Go in if you want!’ shouted Marshall, fighting to make himself heard. ‘I’m told this one loves his ball more than anything!’
Opening the door to the pen, Chris slipped through the narrow gap and was greeted by the perpetual motion of a whizzing tail as the terrier picked the ball up again and dropped it at his feet. Chris sank to his haunches once more and gathered up the ball, throwing it the length of the pen for the little dog to chase. In the space of two minutes, the Jack Russell brought it back to him twelve times.
The barking dogs in the other pens had just quietened to a bearable level when a loud clang from the entrance started them off again. Now seated on the floor of the enclosure, Chris threw the ball one last time before standing up and brushing the dust from his jeans. Out in the walkway, Phil Marshall turned to address someone out of Chris’ line of sight. Looking back a moment later, Marshall gestured the youngster out of the pen.
‘This is Andy’ he shouted, pointing to a skinny, ginger-haired twentysomething that had appeared at the end of the walkway. Andy held up his hand in a greeting but received no response. Chris’ entire focus was drawn to the dog that had entered with him.
It was a Golden Labrador.
‘Jesus!’ shouted Andy as the dog surged forward on its lead, almost pulling him over. ‘What’s got into her?’
Looking from Chris at one end of the walkway to the straining dog at the other, Marshall folded his arms and took a step back. ‘I’d say it looks like they know each other. Let her go, Andy!’
Tears welled in Chris’ eyes. He dropped to his knees and held out his arms as Andy reached down to unclip the lead from the dog’s collar. In a blur of golden fur the dog bolted the length of the walkway, bowling into Chris and almost knocking him over. His dislodged baseball cap fell to the floor as the dog jumped about, excitedly licking his face.
‘Oh my God! Pepper, it is you! I don’t believe it!’
‘Okay, let’s get outside!’ shouted Marshall. ‘I can’t hear a damn thing in here!’
Five minutes later Chris McReedy was outside the brick building with Pepper back on her lead and the two men walking alongside him.
‘I thought I’d lost her for good’ said Chris, his voice quivering. ‘Do you know where she was found?’
Andy scratched the nape of his scruffy ginger hair. ‘Uh, Kemsing, I think. Yeah, that was it. Pretty weird; she was lying next to the body of some old fella...’
Chris stopped in his tracks and leaned over to look into the animal’s dark eyes. ‘God, I wish you could talk’ he said softly, seeing the familiar scars on her snout as well as one or two more recent scratches. Almost comically, Pepper tilted her head.
No one would ever know how a split-second glance had stopped Arthur Cranley’s spear from being thrust deep into her neck all those weeks ago. In that critical moment the old tramp had noticed marks on her hide that he identified immediately as cigarette burns; the same signs of torture that he himself had been branded with. This animal, far from being food, had arrived as a kindred spirit.
Cutting her free from the briars, the old man led her back to the shack where he was able to treat her injuries by using salves made from pulped leaves. In a sudden upturn of fortune he also managed to catch a large rabbit in one of the snares, which he skinned and ate that very evening (Pepper’s reward for bringing him luck was a healthy share of the meal). For that night at least, they were able to shut out the horrors of t
he world and sleep without hunger, although their burgeoning partnership would be agonisingly brief.
Three days on from freeing Pepper from the thorny bushes and after two days of empty snares and empty bellies, man and dog were drawn back to the local village and into an encounter that would prove to be Arthur’s undoing. Infected with a single bite from a lone zombie, the wounded old man stumbled into the rubbish-strewn front room of a half-collapsed house. There, with the upturned spear jammed securely into a split floorboard, he locked his fingers behind the back of his head and forced it down onto the sharp point; piercing his temple, destroying his brain and pinning himself like the prized butterfly in a Victorian insect collection. Pepper, unable to comprehend what had happened to her new master, lay down beside his scarecrow-like body and did not move. She was also close to death when eventually discovered four whole days later by a random group of survivors. At a show of four hands to three, the group voted to take her with them rather than to euthanize her there and then.
‘Well,’ Marshall said to Chris, ‘it looks like it’s settled. I’m happy for you to help Andy out with the animals but we still need as many people making up fence panels as we can get. There’s a hell of a lot of work to be done out there.’
‘Sure’ said Chris, nodding enthusiastically. ‘No problem.’ With that, he patted the dog and the three men continued their lap of the compound.
Chris would continue to smile for the rest of the day. When he returned to Sevenoaks (and to Paige) four weeks later, he would have Pepper with him.
EPILOGUE
Weeks turned into months and summer ended up as blisteringly hot as predicted. Progress was slow and laborious but throughout the length and breadth of the country the survivors were actually managing to get things done. Miles and miles of fencing were erected, creating zombie-free thoroughfares along which to travel, while the numbers of dead - mercifully - appeared to dwindle. Great areas of scarred land remained beyond the borders, off-limit expanses generally referred to as ‘the waste’. Work would begin there only when everything within the cordon had been achieved.
Summer, and the increase in heat, presented other challenges. Flies, in particular, became a huge problem, and their presence required urgent action after a large number of people fell ill and one older person died. It was mooted that insects feeding on dead flesh and then landing on uncovered food may have caused the sickness, and in response the recently created anti-virus was quickly administered. Fortunately, it proved effective to everyone involved.
The plague itself, however, remained.
If anyone passed away, whether by zombie bite or natural causes, they continued to re-animate after death. For now, it seemed that minimising the chances of further outbreaks was the best that the recovering nation could hope for. Teams of officers were assigned to each community, specifically tasked with assessing the wellbeing of the occupants in their care (particularly the older or more vulnerable types). There was no time for sympathy either; if a person died, they had to be dealt with quickly and ruthlessly. Every single man, woman and child was made to understand that complacency or hesitancy would get you killed. In addition, self-defence training was stepped up to ensure that every person was made aware of how to deal with single or group zombie encounters.
With the virus still active, communication with the larger world remained at a distance. Great Britain retained its no-go status, with not one single person permitted in or out. The channel tunnel, incredibly only partly damaged in the initial bombings, was sealed up and guarded around the clock to prevent the virus reaching mainland Europe. Aid was provided, however, in the form of unmanned drone-gliders, which were used to bring in food and medical supplies.
The military response to information regarding the remaining Phoenix Society members was swift and conclusive, with British Special Forces intelligence used to galvanise troops already stationed overseas. Allied with the might of over a dozen other countries, further threats were neutralized with lethal efficiency before they could materialise. In all cases, no prisoners were reported as having been taken...
Eventually, from the desolation, a new Great Britain was born, along with a new government and a new democracy. Cities were rebuilt brick by brick, roads and rivers were re-established and green pastures eventually regained their lushness. With only a tenth of the original population having survived, every single able bodied person was assigned duties with a bigger picture in mind.
In the decades to come, new generations of Britons would commemorate 14/4 - the first day of the attacks - and give thanks to those that had sacrificed their lives for the liberty of their kin. A lasting memorial, a wall running from one end of the country to the other, would give every survivor the chance to record the names of those that had fallen as...
...Prey for the Dead
PREY
FOR THE DEAD
C.A. Earl fell in love with reading at an early age, immersing himself in the works of Robert E Howard, Jack London and J.R.R Tolkien as well as those of the multitude of talented writers and artists of Marvel Comics. His own desire to write became reality with the publication of his first full-length novel, ‘The Blood Hunters’ in 2012. C.A. Earl has lived and worked in the UK and USA and now resides in Kent, England.