by Ricky Fleet
Sam leaned forward to warm his hands. “What my brother was trying to say, is that we need to kill a few million more.”
“And the only way to do that is to train hard and face them whenever we can. That means we may have to go outside and fight,” Braiden added.
“With all the people that we’ve lost, you want to put yourself at risk for no reason?” Kurt demanded, the earlier amusement turning to anger. “We’re secure for the first time in weeks!”
“Hear them out, love,” Sarah coaxed, trying to soothe him. “They’re just trying to help.”
“Dad, listen. We know how to fight them without putting ourselves in danger; you and Gramps taught us how. The other kids want to learn what we know so they can keep themselves safe, too.”
“And please don’t throw me from the wall, but the only way to learn is out there among them, sir,” Winston said cautiously.
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Sir now, is it? You kill zombies better than you kiss ass, that’s for sure.”
“Go on,” Sarah urged.
“We have all the blades we need to arm ourselves,” said Sam.
“What we need are more weapons to kill them at range,” Braiden finished.
“You mean you need guns? I don’t know if Jonesy and DB have enough to go around. Not if they want to remain armed themselves.”
Sarah agreed with Kurt. “Besides, there are a lot fewer bullets than we’d like to admit. The fight for the castle took a large chunk of what we’d recovered from the hospital.”
“I wasn’t talking about guns specifically, Mum,” Sam replied.
“The cracks of each shot are deafening which will only put us in more danger. We need a lot more bows and arrows to use.”
“But you’ve already got bows and arrows!” Kurt objected, his frustration growing.
“They’re cheap knock-offs, Dad,” Braiden explained. “Miss Lunsford says they were only ever meant to be used for displays; the strings are already fraying and won’t last much longer.”
“And where on earth would you secure new ones?” Sarah asked, ignoring Kurt as he muttered and grumbled.
“There’s a shop to the north. Holly saw it as they drove into town.”
“Oh, she did, did she?” Kurt huffed.
“It’s worth some thought at the very least, surely?” Sarah said.
Kurt closed his eyes and leaned back, the chill increasing as he moved his head away from the radiated heat. Every inch of ground they had bled for was meant to keep those he loved safe from the monsters. The boys were right, though. No matter how high the wall, the dead would still be waiting to strike. Humans too, as the prison proved.
Sam spoke up to break the lingering silence. “Sorry, Dad. It was a daft idea.”
“Yes, it was,” Kurt replied, “And if you keep secrets from me in the future, I’ll kick all your asses, do you understand me?”
“Sorry,” replied the boys, miserably.
“I’ve already explained why we need to keep the zombies at the walls, haven’t I?”
They all nodded.
“But that’s not to say there aren’t ways you could get clear and take what you needed from the shop. Stephen has shown me the secret tunnels which emerge well away from the walls. I’ll show you boys soon.”
“Does that mean you’re going to let us go out into the world?” Braiden wondered.
Kurt roared with hatred, startling the boys and his wife. “Yes! Fucking hell, yes, ok! But only in a limited way and I want to know the ins and outs of any excursion.”
“I’m sorry you’re angry with us, Mr Taylor,” Winston stammered in fear.
“I’m not angry with you, boys. I’m angry with this whole fucked up world that means we even need to discuss this shit. You should be worried about school, girls, what TV shows you’ll be watching, not how best to retrieve weapons to kill rotting corpses who won’t stay fucking dead. I know that the stronger you get, the better your chance of surviving this hell. I just struggle to let go of your childhood and admit that you’re all becoming men. The thought of not being there to protect you if you ever get in trouble terrifies me. I’d prefer fighting a hundred of those freaks with my bare hands to having you in harm’s way.”
“Oh, love,” Sarah gasped, tears spilling down her cheeks. Reaching out, she took him in her arms as his own flowed unashamedly.
“We’re growing into the men we are because of your bravery, Dad,” Braiden said, the lump in his throat choking the words.
“Paige’s and Gramps’s too,” Sam said, his own tears trickling.
“Come here!” Kurt husked, pulling his boys into the embrace.
Winston shuffled awkwardly. “I know you were going to throw me from the wall a minute ago, but can I get in on this hug?”
Sarah sobbed out a chuckle and beckoned him over. They split apart and pulled him into their world of family and love.
“Now listen, boys,” Kurt said, breaking away and wiping at his face. “I don’t want to hear of any more secret plans to take on the world. Here’s what’s going to happen, and I won’t have any arguments about it, do you understand?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Yes, sir.” Winston nodded.
“Cut that shit out, Winston! It’s Kurt. Our first priority is to get enough food to last us through to the spring. We’ll be planning a way to get the goods back inside the castle and I’d like you all to offer input. That’ll need to happen before the week is out or we’ll be eating the furniture.”
“There’s a nice leather couch I’ve got my eye on,” Winston remarked.
“It’s not the time,” Sam whispered from the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry, I’m still buzzing from the hug.”
Kurt continued. “Once the food’s secure, we’ll be making a move on the cathedral to see if the people inside need our help. Without knowing their own situation, I think it’s best to do it as soon as possible after the raid on the supermarket.”
“They could be starving,” Braiden speculated.
“Couldn’t we get to them first?” Sam suggested.
“No. My only concern at the moment is the castle and the survivors inside. I’m sorry, but it’s got to be that way. Should the worst happen and we suffer a catastrophe, at least the people inside the walls will be well provisioned.”
“If you’re that worried, why bother?” Braiden asked. Seeing their looks, he clarified his point. “I want to rescue them too, but I could understand why it would be crazy to risk ourselves for strangers.”
“I know what you meant, mate. But that’s just who we are, at least I hope so. I don’t want to become insular and say fuck everyone else, you’re on your own,” said Kurt.
“Purely from a numbers point of view it helps as well,” Sarah added. “We are outnumbered by the prisoners by a factor of ten to one. Maybe less if you discount the ones who aren’t psychotic and the hostages, but still shitty odds.”
“They may also have important skills which we could use,” Winston explained. “Maybe not the priests; they don’t seem to have done us much good in the past few months. There may be some useful people trapped inside with them, though.”
“Exactly. The one skill we are lacking for now is an expert in growing our own food. There are loads of books in the library on the topic which we can use if we need to. Textbooks are no substitute for experience, unfortunately. I would like to see this whole upper bailey section planted and growing by the summer. The quicker we can achieve self-sufficiency, the better.”
Winston put a hand up meekly and Kurt frowned.
“This isn’t a classroom. Spit it out.”
“Well, it’s just that there may be a slight problem with your plan,” he confessed.
“And what might that be?”
“Erm… well. The plot of land within the walls won’t be enough to feed the castle. It won’t even be close,” he said apologetically.
“What do you mean? There’s at least three acres of ground to
grow vegetables and fruit. Once we have a system in place it should provide us with plenty,” Kurt replied.
“Begging your pardon, but it won’t be enough. I did a project at school on the subject of people disappearing from civilization and living off grid. It takes two acres to produce enough food to last all year round for a family of four.”
“What?” Kurt was dumbfounded.
“Two acres for four people and much more if any kind of animals are involved. I’m afraid we have quite a few more than that to feed.”
“Fuck! That leaves us right in the shit!” Kurt held his head, shocked by the practicalities of surviving once the food laying unclaimed in the local shops ran out.
“If I may,” Winston offered, urging them to join him at the wall. “The arrowhead of land which sits to the south east is large enough to provide for hundreds.”
“Winston, it’s outside. We can’t exactly go planting in the field when the dead will be trying to eat us.”
“Look at the shape.” Winston pointed. “The River Arun curves around, enclosing it on the east, south and west. All we would need to do is seal off the northern edge and the river would do the rest for us. I’d guess it’s about three hundred metres from water to water.”
“That’s three hundred metres of land which we can’t even get to, let alone fortify and seal off,” Kurt muttered.
“It was just a thought. Sorry I peed on your cornflakes.”
“If what you say is true, people would be happy with piss soaked cornflakes when they start to starve,” Kurt replied, dejectedly.
Sarah patted his leg. “It’s a great plan, Winston. We’ll give it some more thought on how we could secure it permanently after we’ve retrieved the food.”
“They don’t like the water. Why not use it?” Sam suggested.
“What do you mean?” Kurt asked.
“Dig a ditch, then flood it. Make the whole area an island, or as close as possible to one.”
“Like a moat around a castle?” Kurt marvelled. “That may be crazy enough to work.”
“I knew there was a reason I kept you guys around,” Winston chuckled.
CHAPTER 31
Running around the perimeter of the apartment block’s roof, there were only two routes down. An enclosed safety ladder dropped to a steel walkway, twenty feet below. It acted as an emergency exit from the building in event of the lift and stairs being cut off by fire. Or zombies, Hombre thought. The other option was to use the balconies, lowering himself carefully from the iron balusters to the platform below one by one until reaching terra-firma. Maybe if you were young again. And pissed. He had seen enough videos of the stunt going wrong to quickly dismiss the idea.
Dodging the rapidly increasing mass of undead, he climbed over the low parapet and descended the ladder. Movement from above caught his attention and he was just in time to see the zombie topple head first over the edge. Throwing up his arms to shield himself, the creature fell ten feet before its limbs became entangled in the protective metal cage. Blood trickled from the twisted, shattered bones, coating Hombre’s upturned face.
Shouting his disgust, he hurried down the final length and moved out from under the disgusting drizzle. Another resounding clang came from above, caused by a second zombie falling down the chute. A third joined the writhing mass. The trapped limbs were stretching under the weight, joints separating as the skin and flesh tore.
“Time to go!”
Running down the first flight of steel steps, he watched in shock as a body sailed past him, still reaching as it fell out of sight. The body had already been weakened by decomposition and the addition of concrete and gravity was unforgiving. Splitting into unrecognisable chunks of meat, the outer wall was sprayed with blood during the explosive impact. Tremors shook through his hands which clutched at the railing for support. Above, more of the eager corpses were tossing themselves towards him, some hitting the steel frame while others missed completely. Their excited gurgles were cut off the instant they pancaked on the sidewalk below. Taking the steps two at a time, he raced for the bottom as the zombies fell like rain all around. Reaching the ground, the surrounding area was awash with dripping ichor and shuddering piles of rancid meat. Waiting for a few seconds, the lemming routine tapered off as the undead lost interest in their missing quarry.
The gate to the building site was a short distance away, but Hombre had another plan first. Taking the keys from his pocket, he hugged the wall and skirted back to the four by four. Jumping behind the wheel, he fired the engine and reversed away from the entrance, slamming into a parked Mercedes. Shifting into first, he floored the accelerator and aimed for the emerging cadavers. Bracing himself, the vehicle smashed through both the undead and door frame. The airbag triggered, inflating explosively as he came to rest in the dark foyer. Momentarily dazed, he shook his head and climbed through to the rear seats. Blasting through the rear windscreen, he kicked out at any loose shards and extricated himself from the wreckage. Looking back, the building had effectively been corked, sealing the dead inside for now. Any that chose to leap from the roof to reach him would be killed outright, or rendered immobile by the fall. It was just a shame the vehicle lacked a towing ball or it would have been perfect to pull the generator home.
“Oh well, come to papa!” he said, turning towards the construction site.
Pulling the gate closed, he looped the loose chain around the hasp a few times. The padlock was nowhere to be seen, so he slipped a discarded, rust covered screwdriver between the links to secure them. Two huge sand and cement silos sat side by side next to the site office. Someone had opened the valve and tonnes of yellow grains had poured out, covering the ground. A solitary hand flexed its fingers, the rest of the creature trapped beneath the crushing mound.
The partially erected steel frame of the high rise reminded him of their foe; skeletal and devoid of life. Three floors had been nearing completion with the bare concrete blocks giving it an austere, dystopian feel. A colossal tower crane stared down on the scene, the viewing windows sentient and watchful. It filled him with an uneasy foreboding, quite out of character for a bare knuckle fighting gun runner. For someone who valued personal solitude, it could be the knowledge that the survivors really were alone. Billions of souls frenetically living their hectic lives had been reduced to millions, perhaps fewer if everyone had been similarly caught off guard like the pathetic British government. Scratching from within the locked site office reminded him he was not alone, but he did not crave the company of filthy rotters.
“Where the hell is it?” he asked no one in particular.
Dozens of yellow cables ran into the building, trailing from beneath a heavy-duty cable cover. Following the protective ramp, it circled around to the rear of the site. The generator came into view, surrounded by the parked cars of the dead workforce.
“Marvellous,” he sighed.
The muck and mire of the sodden, muddy ground would make it impossible to move them by hand, even if he had five strong men to help. The wheels had already sunk by a few inches from being stationary through the damp weather. Hoping against hope, he tried the doors but they were all locked tight. There was no doubt that the length of time between the outbreak and Hombre’s arrival would mean most, if not all, of the batteries were too weak to start the engines anyway. Added to that was the difficulty in finding their owners, even in the high visibility jackets, killing them, and then praying they still had the keys in their pockets.
Leaning against a rusting Nissan Micra, he lit up a cigarette and tried to think of a solution. The blockade was arranged in such a way that if he could move just four of the cars, he could back up to the towing hitch and be away. The wheels were solid and, luckily, the generator had been set up on a concrete hardstand so the wet ground was inconsequential. Tossing the butt away, he approached the mobile unit.
May as well get it ready while I work out how the fuck to get it out.
Pulling the wires from the many adaptors, he coiled
them on his arm and tidied them out of the way. The thick, armoured cable of the crane was directly connected into the main grid. The backup coupler was still in the box by the control unit which saved him the time of finding tools to disconnect it. Standing in the shadow of the gigantic, steel beast, a crazy idea formed in his mind. A batshit crazy idea from the town of utterly ridiculous ideas based in the country of what the fuck are you even contemplating this for. This was the kind of stuff that got people killed.
Let’s try it.
Searching inside the storage containers, he found what he was looking for; large cylinders with heavy duty chain wrapped around them for the tower crane, and three oxy-acetylene torch kits from the frame erectors. Peeking back out into the light, he estimated the length between the cars impeding his ability to get at the generator, and the crane itself. Unspooling the links, he made sure he had enough slack to cater for any mistakes on his guess work. Opening the valve on the acetylene, he sparked his lighter and the dirty yellow flame fluttered from the nozzle. Cranking the oxygen valve, the flame firmed up before turning bright blue as it oxidised. Lacking a visor, Hombre shuttered his eyes as much as possible and held the flame to the steel. After a few seconds, the metal started to glow, then soften and drip to the ground. Three more sections were cut and tossed out into the yard to cool down. Scanning the shelves, boxes of nuts, bolts and washers of varying sizes were laid out. Grabbing a handful of each, he pocketed them and moved outside to collect the chains.
“This is going to work,” he declared, manhandling the lengths across to the cars.
Looping each section around the axle, he used three bolts to hold the links together, tightening them as much as his grip would allow. When all four cars had been secured, he carried the loose ends over to the steel frame of the crane. Pulling them taut, he climbed the ladder and looped them over the diagonal braces of the mast, before fastening them with the remaining bolts. Letting go of the rungs, he gingerly applied his weight to the dangling lengths. All four held fast. Satisfied, he descended and looked upon his work. The easy part was done. All he had to do now was topple the two-hundred-foot machine and it would drag the vehicles out of the way.