‘Good luck explaining to Mr Howie why you didn’t tell him all this before…’
‘I needed to be sure who he was, Lilly. I’ve been out for a while now. When I met Howie, I didn’t know if he was something bad or good and until I see the old team I’m still not sure what it is we’re dealing with…’
‘Like I said, tell me when I need to know,’ she says, shouting over the thrum of the outboard engine. ‘Anyway, Mr Howie isn’t here. But we are and that’s all that matters…I’m glad you’re with us, Kyle. I mean that.’
She aims the boat towards the shore of the bay as they both look ahead to the camp that has formed overnight. Dozens of caravans grouped together amongst cars, vans, trucks and lorries. More coming down the road and no doubt more will come during the day. In fairness, Peter did say there would be a few.
‘Good positioning,’ Lilly remarks. ‘They’re at the converging point of the two roads…’
‘Aye,’ Kyle says, seeing what she means. The camp now sitting at the meeting point of the shore road and the road running in from the north and that nothing can approach the fort without going past the camp.
They come to a stop in the shallows of the bay and clamber out to wade through the waters. Lilly bringing her rifle to the front. Loaded, made ready, safety on. Kyle’s pistols on his belt. Loaded, made ready, safeties on.
They reach the road and pause to take stock of the new camp. People still setting up from positioning their caravans overnight. Men in groups smoking as they chat with rifles and all manner of weapons held on slings or within reach. Swords, bats and weird looking old medieval weaponry that Lilly saw in history text books. Guns too. Lots of guns.
The scents of fires and wood smoke mingled with coffee and tobacco drift over. Music too and it makes Lilly frown lightly. She hasn’t heard music since this all started. Just an old track, something from the sixties maybe and the volume is low but it’s still music.
‘You alright there?’ a man calls out, his expression hard and his voice signals more to stop and look with a long second of silence as others turn to look.
‘Miss Lilly! Are you alright? Father, it’s good to see you,’ a man strides towards them. A huge smile on his face. Tall and lean with dark and hair and startling green eyes, and Lilly recognises him as the guy with the Stengun in the fight yesterday.
‘Elvis,’ Kyle beams, moving in to shake his hand. ‘Can’t forget that name can we,’ he adds in a way that makes Lilly think it’s for her benefit. ‘Willie, you rascal,’ he adds, grinning at a ginger-haired shorter and stockier man walking over. Another one that Lilly recognises.
‘Father, Lilly,’ Willie says. ‘Come in, come in…PETER! MISS LILLY IS HERE NOW SHE IS…’ he shouts out as the mood instantly shifts from weariness to something else as the men and women drift over with big smiles on tired looking faces.
‘We just brewed up, coffee is it?’ a woman asks at Lilly’s side, pushing a steaming mug into her hand. ‘It’s got milk in it…from a goat mind, not a cow…’
‘You have goats?’ Lilly asks.
‘Course. Where do you think the milk comes from?’
‘I said there’d be a few of us,’ Peter calls out with a grin, striding towards them.
‘A few ye say,’ Kyle says with a comic look about. ‘More than a few there is. You’ll have the council serving notices you will…’
A few laughs. A joke well served and the mood softens a bit more as Lilly sips the coffee and looks about, hoping like hell inviting them all here was the right thing to do.
‘We’ll have more coming,’ Peter says, shaking hands with Kyle before moving to Lilly. ‘This is Miss Lilly,’ he calls out, proudly presenting her. ‘She’s in charge of the fort now…’
‘The wee girl with the grenades?’ someone asks.
‘Aye, that’s the one,’ Peter says. ‘Fights like a demon she does. Hard as nails too, don’t let them blue eyes fool you.’
‘It is very nice to meet you all,’ Lilly calls out, looking around. ‘And thank you for coming here.’
‘You won’t say that when the rest arrive,’ a voice shouts from inside a caravan. Female and loud with a strong accent.
‘Mary,’ Peter calls, a warning edge to his voice.
‘Mary my arse,’ the voice says, a woman appearing in the doorway of a big caravan. Early twenties with flame red hair down her back and she drops out to stride on past them, holding eye-contact with Lilly as she goes. ‘What you looking at, Blondie?’
‘Pack it in,’ Peter chides.
‘Mary, go on now,’ Willie says, making Lilly realise they must be brother and sister.
‘You go on now,’ Mary fires back, flicking a middle finger up at him. ‘And you can feck off gawping, Elvis…’
‘Daughter?’ Kyle asks as the young woman walks off.
‘Niece,’ Peter replies with a sour look. ‘Strong willed too…anyway, a few people that turned up during the night for the fort. I think they were startled to see us here, but we’ve put them at ease, given them some tea and a place down the way to rest. I’ve got a few lads keeping an eye to make sure they’re safe now and we’ve said the fort opens back up in the morning. I’m hoping that was about right? And we’ve got some lads posted on the roads in…you said I had the security of the outside and I take that seriously. We all do…’ he adds as the other men gathered about them murmur in agreement.
‘How many more are likely to come?’ Lilly asks.
‘Hard to say,’ Peter replies. ‘Is there a limit now?’
Lilly spots the joke in his manner and smiles. That’s he likes him is obvious. The way he speaks is so lilting and nice. An energy so similar to Kyle too. ‘There’s no limit,’ she says. ‘But if you’re happy to come over I can show you the fort and explain what I have in mind.’
Chapter Three
‘Fucking joke. I mean…what the fuck was all that about? Sleeping all night on a hard floor then got some screaming bint waking everyone up…’ A meaty looking tattooed guy says as Norman heads back, his limbs still trembling from the adrenalin of grappling with a woman trying to fire a gun.
‘Norman, are you okay?’ Patricia asks, seeing him walking back into their patch of ground in the bizarre little street of invisible houses.
‘What happened?’ Keith asks, his face as stricken with fright and worry as everyone else. ‘Someone was screaming and everyone ran…we didn’t see you…’
‘Silly twat ran the wrong way,’ the tattooed guy sneers. Balding and with days of growth on his jaw flecked with grey. A faded and torn England football shirt and ripped shorts showing tribal inkwork on his legs ‘We’re all going that way and that idiot’s going the other direction. Fucking numpty.’
‘What on earth did you do that for?’ Keith asks.
‘Did you see what happened?’ another man asks from inside his own section of ground as a few other people nearby stop to listen.
‘A man hung himself,’ Norman explains. His head spinning from it all. His mind still feeling not like his own at all. His voice quiet. ‘His er, his wife found him. That was her screaming…’
‘Oh god, how awful,’ Patricia says, covering her mouth in horror as the tattooed guy snorts a blast of air while shaking his head.
‘Gave her a good kicking though by the looks of it…’ he says loudly.
‘I’m sorry, what?’ Norman asks.
‘We saw ‘em all jumping on her. Gave her a right going over. That’s what happens if you get upset in this place is it?’
‘She tried to grab a gun,’ Norman says.
‘A gun! Which fucking numpty let her near a gun? Jesus. Who’s running this place? Fucking kids?’
Norman thinks to reply, expecting his mind to kick in with answers to counter but he comes up empty and dry and shakes his head instead. Feeling dull and lifeless again. He could tell them what happened and describe it all but what’s the point? Why bother?
He sits down and rubs his face as images of Robert rush through his
mind bringing forth a surge of raw emotions, and his face changes, showing the angst and pressure.
He breathes deeply as he looks about the rushed and hastily thrown up refugee camp.
He came in late yesterday evening with Patricia and Keith. Neighbours from his high-end expensive street in Surrey. They’d heard about the fort and a man called Mr Howie fighting back. They said the fort had security. It had soldiers and order. They were heading south and asked if Norman wanted to go with them. Norman said no at first but then Patricia said Robert was gone now. He was dead, and it was time to leave.
Norman didn’t so much as agree as not refuse and so he tagged along, riding in the back of their Mercedes SUV in grey suit trousers and a white office shirt.
They arrived at the fort to see mounds of bodies on fire and chaos everywhere, but people too. People that seemed to be trying. A doctor on the beach. A boat over to the fort. A Polish woman called Lenski asked them to give their food over, so it could be given out fairly. She told them to share what they had but to ask if they needed anything.
She then led them to the far side next to huge gazebo and open-sided tents rigged up for the children to play in. She said she called it tent-town and showed them to a patch of ground and said they would get them a tent as soon as they had some.
That was it and the Polish woman rushed off. She had a pistol on her hip but other than that there were remarkably few armed people. Norman couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not. He was too tired to think. Too exhausted. Too drained and so he curled up on the hard ground then woke this morning to the screams.
‘This fucking heat,’ the tattooed man mutters. ‘Where’s the fucking tents? Seriously. I’ve had enough of this. Walked all fucking day to get here yesterday…it’s a joke this is, leaving us without food…’
‘I think we eat in a minute,’ the man in the next patch of ground says. ‘The kids eat first apparently…’
The tattooed guy sneers. ‘Joke though yeah? Fuckin’ joke. Where’s the tents? They say to you about the tents?’
‘I dunno. It’s chaos though. Nobody seems to know anything…’
‘Fuck’s sake. What’s your name then?’
‘Mathew.’
‘What about you?’ the angry guy asks, looking over to Norman.
‘Norman,’ Norman says.
‘Tommy,’ the tattooed guy says, lifting his chin in greeting. ‘They say what else happens? Where do we shit and piss?’
‘I don’t know,’ Matthew replies, holding his hands up.
‘I think they’re building some toilet cubicles,’ someone down the line says, a voice hidden within the shadows and gloomy light.
Tommy tuts again, blasting another snort of air through his nose. ‘Bit fucking late doing them now with all these people here…’
‘BREAKFAST,’ a voice yells as a metal ladle is whacked against a metal pot. ‘
‘About time,’ Tommy says, walking out of his square of ground like he’s walking from his house. ‘You two coming or what?’
Norman holds back, pointing at Patricia and Keith as though to show he’s with people.
‘You go on, Norman,’ Patricia urges. ‘We’ll probably just sleep to be honest…’
A weird feeling inside Norman. That he’s imposing on his group somehow. Daft for sure but the feeling is there nonetheless, but then he doesn’t want to go with Tommy either.
‘Fuck’s sake. Come on,’ Tommy snaps. ‘Greedy wankers will eat it all…’
‘You on your own, Tommy?’ Mathew asks.
Tommy shrugs as he walks on. ‘My wife got bit didn’t she, stupid cow. The things had her. I had to hide in my garage. What about you? Wives get bit did they?’ Tommy asks.
Mathew nods, his face showing pain. Norman stays silent and stares ahead to the queue already forming at the big serving tables with a view like a news report from a third world country.
Sullen, bedraggled people in filthy clothes. Some emaciated from not eating enough. The signs of deep stress, anxiety and worry showing in their faces. The way their heads are bowed. The way people who know each other cling together. Everyone scared and fearful and nobody quite knowing what to do or how to be.
‘I bet they eat alright,’ Tommy grumbles, his voice still too loud and aggressive for the quietness about them. He nods towards the offices and the people Norman saw trying to help with the screaming woman. ‘Bet they sleep in proper beds eh? Creaming the best shit for themselves. I was told everyone has to give up what they got when they come in. I said what for? They said to share out. I was like fuck that, I’m not giving my stuff up…’
‘I think they’re doing the best they can,’ a woman further in the queue turns to say.
‘Who asked you?’ Tommy fires back, puffing his chest out. ‘Jesus. Can’t even say anything without someone having a go. That what it’s like here is it?’
Norman lowers his head and folds his arms wishing he’d waited and not come with Tommy in case anyone thinks he’s with him.
‘Hi, can you wash your hands please,’ a man says, motioning them over to a hose held over a huge bucket. ‘Hands under the flow and use the soap…then anti-bac up…’
‘I know how to wash my hands mate,’ Tommy says.
‘We’re just doing the best we can,’ the man says, looking fit to drop.
‘Don’t jump down my throat. Bleeding hell. Only made a remark…’
Norman waits his turn, nodding a thank you to the man.
‘Is that it? Sausages and beans? Fuck me. Go on then, load me up, love,’ Tommy’s voice ahead, flecked with hard humour and Norman glances down to see Tommy’s plate already steaming from a pile of food and a nervous looking woman holding the ladle she used to serve him with from a big pot. ‘That’s not enough…I get medical issues if I don’t eat enough. Blood sugar and all sorts going on. Docs said I has to maintain my weight…’
The woman serving him glances nervously at his plate. ‘There’s so many people,’ she says quietly.
‘Eh? What? Jesus, I’m only asking for a few more beans…’
The woman complies. Too tired, too scared and too drained to argue or oppose Tommy’s aggressive voice and she dollops another spoonful of baked beans on his plate then keeps her gaze down when she serves Matthew.
Another table set further aside with a small generator chugging away to give power to a big water heater for tea and coffee. Bottles of water stacked on the ground and rows of disposable cups on the table top.
‘Tea or coffee?’ a man asks as Tommy ventures close.
‘You got any pop?’ Tommy asks.
‘Pop?’ the man asks.
‘Yeah. Coke, lemonade, fizzy stuff…’
‘I don’t know. We’ve got…’
‘Fuck’s sake. I saw piles of it on that fucking beach. Fucking joke…’
‘Everything okay?’ Sam asks, walking towards the food tables as Tommy overplays a double-take at the rifle strapped to her back and the pistol on her belt.
‘No need for that. Fuck me. I was only asking…’ Tommy says, pulling away.
‘I have no idea what just happened,’ Sam says to the other people standing nearby.
Norman moves off from the table, not wanting to go with Tommy and Mathew but unable to summon the energy needed to make any other decision, and so he simply follows as they lower down onto the hardground.
‘Tastes like shit,’ Tommy says. ‘Still, best not say anything. Probably take you outside and execute you or sumfin.’
Norman finishes with a sudden desire to be alone and away from people. A need for isolation and he gathers his things, the empty plate, cup and bottle of water and starts to rise.
‘Where you going?’ Tommy asks, snapping his head up. ‘Getting another brew yeah? I’ll have tea…Matt? What you having?’
‘Er, tea, cheers,’ Matthew says.
Norman walks off, not saying anything at all. He finds the returns table and simply stands for a moment, watching people work. Seeing they
are like him. Broken, terrified and exhausted but at least they’re doing something to help.
He walks away and stops a few metres from the inner gate and an old man in his sixties sitting on a chair eating from a plate with a rifle propped against the wall next to him.
‘You alright?’ Donald, the old soldier asks, glancing up.
‘I’m just looking around,’ Norman replies.
The man nods and chews another mouthful. ‘You can go out if you want…I got to tell people they ain’t prisoners or anything…’ he takes another mouthful, speaking as he eats. ‘Gates are locked at night though. Makes sense really.’
‘Sure,’ Norman says quietly.
‘They use ex-army blokes for the guards, I’m saying that in case you served. There’s only me really…’
‘I didn’t. Sorry,’ Norman says, looking over as a small group come through the gate. A young blond woman with an assault rifle strapped to her back leading others inside.
‘And this is the fort,’ Lilly says.
‘Ach, will you look at that now,’ Peter says, walking through with Willie and Elvis. ‘A double gate system. That’s a good design that is…and look at this in here. Bigger than it looks and you’ve got a cooking area all set up. Breakfast time I’m guessing.’
‘It is yes. I’ll show you the infirmary,’ Lilly says, motioning for them to follow her across the fort and in through the medical section doors. ‘Doctors Heathcliff and Andrew Stone,’ Lilly says, pointing at the two male doctors talking at the bedside of a teenager covered in bandages from the night Lilly took the fort back. ‘Doctor Lisa Franklin is here somewhere too, and Ann is normally about…but your people are welcome to come over if they need medical help.’
‘Ach, you got a father and son doctor team there now,’ Peter says with a bright smile. ‘Like a family business is it?’
‘We’re married,’ Andrew says.
‘Aye that’s grand so it is, and good luck to your wives I say too,’ Peter replies, his lilting voice so friendly and warm.
‘To each other,’ Andrew says pointedly, pointing at his gruff looking bearded husband.
The Undead (Book 23): The Fort Page 3