“Stranger still how can they be so sure they’ll we be able to get past those things at exactly noon and midnight?”
“This is real isn’t it, we’re all seeing this? It’s not some hallucination brought on by wishful thinking?”
“Also Dan sent this stranger. She isn’t with them. Does that mean Dan hasn’t made it?”
* * *
The Scientist arrived, wearing a balaclava he had found in a sports goods store, and gloves from a gentleman’s outfitters. When he drove, the car attracted crowds of the undead, drawn by the size and movement, which somehow must have spoken to them of life. However when he opened the car door they lost interest, whether it was lack of body heat or the smell of death: something about the Scientist signalled him as ‘not food.’
He parked a block away from the Bunker, having pumped his horn for ten minutes to attract the local dead-life. Then he shaded himself with his umbrella, and sauntered off towards the Bunker, and the possibility of the broadcasting equipment he needed to transmit his signal to the world.
He had painted the message painfully slowly. He no longer had the fine motor skills required for writing on paper, but he could manage to hold the paintbrush in his fist and scrawl large letters. He had been at the door for one midnight and two noons before the door of the Bunker opened a crack.
“Hello!” He called out in as friendly a manner as he could manage.
He was quickly ushered inside, and through the airlock into the main corridor, where all eyes were fixed on him.
Suddenly everyone started asking questions at once.
“How did you get past the zombies?”
“Are you part of a larger group?”
“Is Danniella OK?”
“How many of you are there?”
“Where are you based?”
The stranger held up both hands in a gesture that implied both surrender and a request for silence.
“When you look at me you’re going to be shocked, but give me some time to explain. If you are worried go back to the other side of the airlock.”
There was a door at either end of the airlock, and a small hatch that led through into the Control Room. The survivors watched, puzzled and bemused as the strangers walked back into the airlock and gestured for them to lock the door. Then they bundled into the Control Room and crowded round the grille to speak to him.
Jim leaned forward, still unable to get a good look at the figure. “You know Dan, Danniella? How is she?”
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, she made it to the Research Station in London, and we worked together there for weeks. But I am sorry, she died.”
Summer pushed forward, “Oh no, and do you know about the other woman she was travelling with? A woman called Tina?”
“When I met her she was travelling with two soldiers. They went off to secure a wider perimeter and never came back.”
Summer started to feel deeply uneasy talking to this stranger, with his face covered by a balaclava, and his gloved hands.
“So what happened to Danniella?”
“I really am deeply, deeply sorry about your friend.” As he spoke he started to peel off his balaclava, carefully holding the earphones of his iPod in place.
The survivors instinctively withdrew when they saw that the stranger’s face was clearly that of the undead.
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I killed her.”
There followed a lot of cursing and screaming and running to get weaponry.
“Kill him! Kill him now!” Shouted Rob.
“Wait, we’ve got time to get prepared.”
“No, he could open the outer door; the inner door isn’t as strong; get him before he gets us all killed!”
“Wait!” the Scientist called, “these notes will explain everything, and if you’ll let me speak I have something very important to tell you.”
There was a shelf in front of the speaking grille. The scientist placed the books, some disks, and a memory stick on the shelf and stood back at the other side of the room.
Jim opened the grille, snatched the books and slammed it closed again.
“I am happy to be cuffed or restrained in any way that will make you feel safer. I just ask that you make sure these earphones stay in my ears. I will not lie to you, if these earphones fall out, or my mp3 player stops working, then I am just like any other zombie out there. It’s the signal that permits me to keep my mind.”
Max punched the air! “You got the frequency! This is good news!”
The others turned to Max in disgust. They were still contemplating Danniella and Tina’s death.
“What? Don’t you guys want to find a cure? This is amazing! Let’s cuff him up and let him in.”
* * *
“So why did you come back here?” Asked Jim looking puzzled.
“Firstly, I promised Danniella that I’d pass this jacket on to a young lady called ‘Summer.’” The Scientist attempted a smile as he fished out the red leather jacket from his bag, but, as usual, the expression did not suit his deathly-pale face.
“Secondly, Danniella told me there was broadcasting equipment. We have the signal to turn off the nanites. I just need the means to broadcast it. I’m sure there are more powerful transmitters, but I think there’s a chance I’ll be able to work out how to use this one, and once we’ve cleared the area around here we can start to look for better equipment.”
“Assuming you don’t kill us all.”
“I’ll be honest with you, if my earphones stop working all bets are off, and even with them my mind’s slowly closing down.”
“So what good is the signal?”
“We found the frequency the nanites will listen to. My headphones are broadcasting to make them work more or less properly. Danniella and I found the signal, if broadcast on the same frequency, will switch the nanites off.”
The Scientist could still see confusion on Jim’s face, so he continued, “The dead will stay dead, not end up like whatever-it-is-that-I-am.”
* * *
The broadcasting equipment had not been used for decades, and it didn’t function when it was first powered up.
The next few days Rob and the Scientist worked on fixing the transmitter. Rob had made a radio from a kit as a teenager, and the Scientist had a general knowledge of how these things worked, so between them they made pretty good progress.
Max had little or no mechanical knowledge, so he continued to examine the notebooks and attempted to confirm the research. He was torn between excitement that a cure had been discovered, and frustration that he had not been the one to make the discovery. “I’m thrilled this worked – I suggested Danniella work along those lines,” he would say to anyone who would listen.
However, the zombie who had once been Will was his most constant companion.
“Well, mister Will, your time is up,” Max addressed his test subject with mock earnestness, “I’d like to say that I’ll miss you. I’d like to, but it wouldn’t be true.”
Max waved his hand in front of Will’s face, laughing as the zombie snapped and strained to bite him.
“I’m not for eating, you bad boy.” As he spoke he slapped Will across the face. He had done this many times to take out some frustration when his research had not been going to plan, or when the other survivors had failed to see how important his research was compared to their insignificant efforts.
The slap was casual, yet this time he was careless, and Will twisted his head into the blow and managed to nip the side of Max’s thumb with his teeth.
“Oh you dirty bastard!” He spun round his lab clutching his thumb, then wheeled round and punched the zombie full force in the stomach. It brought a fresh wave of pain to his thumb, but he was satisfied to hear one of the Will’s ribs crack.
“You stupid fucker, you bit me!” He picked up a folder from his desk, smearing it with blood from his thumb, and brought it down as hard as he could on the side of Will’s head.
Calming down, he looke
d at the wound. It was small, but he knew that even the tiniest scratch, if infected with the nanites, could be fatal.
He sucked at the wound as hard as he could, tasting his blood salty and metallic. He sucked and spat the blood into the sink before sucking again. After he had repeated the process several times he washed his mouth out with water.
Then he poured some bleach into a cup and dipped the wounded thumb into it.
“Fuck it! Fuck! Shit! Shite! Shitey shit fuck!”
The pain was searing and it felt as though his finger were shriveling and rotting in one horrible instant.
“Hold it! Hold it! “ He shouted at himself as he gripped the wrist of his injured hand with the healthy one, stopping himself from pulling it out.
“The pain is a signal to my brain! The pain is a signal to my brain!” He told himself over and over, trying to ignore the signal currently screaming at him to take his thumb out of the glass of bleach, which was turning pink as his blood seeped into the thick liquid.
The door to his lab opened and Max jumped, sending glass and bleach into the sink. The glass smashed, and Max pushed on the tap to wash away the smell of bleach.
“Hey Max,” it was Summer, “are you OK?”
“Fine!” Snapped Max unconvincingly.
Summer walked into the lab, “Oh have you cut yourself on the glass?”
“What? No, it’s nothing!” Max looked puzzled, then realised how the scene looked: broken glass in the sink, his bleeding thumb, running the wound under the tap.
“I mean, yes, I cut myself on the broken glass. You made me jump.”
Summer glanced at Will for an instant. “It must be hard working with someone we all knew before he died.”
“Yeah, I just can’t get used to it,” Max nodded, “he’s so much more than just a specimen, he’s Will.”
“That looks nasty,” Summer nodded towards the sink, where Max was still clutching his wrist.
“It’s OK, I studied medicine, I know what to do.”
Summer glanced at Will again, “You gotta be careful, there’s all sorts knocking about this lab, you don’t want to get an infection.”
“I am quite aware of the precautions that are needed in a laboratory, young lady,” said Max through clenched teeth, “the only person who doesn’t know lab protocol is you.”
“OK, OK, keep your hair on,” countered Summer, backing out again, “I was just here to tell you that lunch is almost ready.”
Once the girl was gone he rinsed his thumb under the tap, and continued his litany of curses.
He just hoped that he had caught the infection in time, and that if not the strange Scientist would be able work his cure in time. “Nothing to worry about Max,” he told himself.
* * *
“Is there any way we can test the signal on my pet zombie?” Max asked the scientist.
No we need the transmitter; I spent a day in a fully-equipped lab to turn these headphones into transmitters. They wouldn’t normally transmit to the right frequency – usually they just produce audio-waves.”
“OK, OK, I was just wondering.” Max ran his hand through his hair; he was surprised to find it so greasy, “so how long till the transmitter is up and running?”
“It should have worked right away. But the equipment is years old: all past it’s best and perishing. I understand they had maintained the Bunker on a regular basis, but I don’t think they had been checking the radio station. They probably thought the equipment was too out of date to bother with, and to be honest it’s all analogue, not really up to much.”
Max shook his head sadly, “So any idea what’s wrong with it?”
“I really don’t. I think all the input is working; it’s just something in the wires from here to the antenna, or the antenna itself.”
Chapter Twelve
Last Supper
“We have thirty-two bottles of wine,” Elsbeth announced to the survivors at the next evening meeting.
There was a cheer.
Elsbeth held her hands up for silence, “we have a tough decision to make.”
“Drink, drink, drink!” Rob started up the chant, which was picked up by Jim and Siobhan.
“So we drink it till it’s gone – we’re not going to ration it?”
“No rationing!” Cried Rob. “Fuck it, we could all be dead tomorrow, and all that wine going undrunk would be a sin.”
“Part of me thinks this is not the time to piss off Allah,” said Misha, looking at the offered glass of wine, “but then I think, what the heck, there is more serious crap going on at the moment. And-” Misha shrugged her shoulders, “Allah is merciful, and He will understand that the end of the world has Affected my better judgement.”
The others cheered, glad that Misha would be joining in their reveries.
Summer had been allowed more than a glass of wine for the first time. She had in the distant past bought a bottle of wine with some friends and passed it around, getting a little drunk and feeling very grown-up and sophisticated.
Now she felt properly grown-up, she didn’t have to hide this from her father; he was filling up her glass with a sad smile.
She felt lightheaded and warm very quickly, and ran off to get Will’s guitar: this night needed music.
“This one,” she began, slurring slightly, and suddenly anxious that she may be too drunk to play properly. But she took a deep breath, strummed the intro and started to sing:
“As I was a goin’ over the far famed Kerry mountains
I met with captain Farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol and I then produced my rapier
Saying “Stand and deliver” for he were a bold deceiver,”
Summer rocked back on her chair, fumbling with the chords. She covered her mistakes by shouting to the other survivors, “This is the chorus, listen to this: you gotta sing it from now on,”
“Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da
Whack for my daddy-o. Whack for my daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar!”
She paused for a beat trying to remember the next verse, but gave up and shouted out, “It’s the chorus everybody!”
This time they all joined in,
“Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da...”
Summer sang on, fishing the words Will had taught her out of the depths of her memory. The song was both joyful and poignant. As she reached the end, she whooped: the wine, the music, and the spirit of the moment filled her with life, “Last chorus, everybody! Sing it for Will!”
“...Whack for my daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar.”
Rob laughed, “That takes me waaay back!”
His laughter was infectious, and soon the whole group was laughing.
“This,” declared Rob, “is the best night of my life! And if I was to be stuck in a Bunker with any six people in the whole world, I could not choose better people to spend the End of Days with.”
Jim laughed, “You’re pissed!”
Rob said “That’s very possible, but whether I am or not…”
Jim interrupted, “I know, I know, you’re my besssht friend!”
Rob laughed again, “How did you know I was going to say that?”
The concentration was written in the creases in Summer’s brow as she began to sing again,
“I’ve been a wild rover for many a year
And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer,
And now I’m returning with gold in great store
And I never will play the wild rover no more.”
None of them wanted the night to end. Only Max, who slipped away during a rousing chorus of the Wild Rover, seemed unhappy.
“And it’s no, nay, never,
No nay never no more,
Will I play the wild rover
No never no more.”
The voices of the others echoed down the corridor after Max as he retreated. He felt irritated, his hand ached and he was too tired to deal with drunken id
iots. It felt as if the singing was mocking him. The others didn’t understand the enormity of what they were doing. No, the enormity of what he was doing.
“I’ll go home to my parents, confess what I’ve done
And I’ll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.
And if they forgive me as ofttimes before
Sure I never will play the wild rover no more.”
Max’s head was pounding, he was shivering, and his injured hand was throbbing. He had left the party to get on with his research, but as he walked he just felt weaker and weaker.
“And it’s no, nay, never,
No nay never no more,
Will I play the wild rover
No never no more.”
By the time the song had dissolved in laughter Max had collapsed on his bunk. He lay there, sleeping fitfully, fully dressed, alternately sweating and shivering.
He woke to hear another song drifting down from the never-ending party,
“Summer has come in,
Loudly sing, Cuckoo!”
* * *
The others fell asleep where they sat. When Jim woke in the small hours of the morning he roused Summer, guided her sleepy form into bed and tucked her in. He was reminded of her as a little girl, and the aching cuteness and vulnerability of a small child.
Smiling sadly Jim walked back to wake the others.
He leaned over to rouse Elsbeth, who was lying slumped back in her chair, her hair in her face, her breathing audible, but not quite yet a snore.
She started when he touched her shoulder, then as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light she smiled and reached up for his face.
The survivors staggered off to their bunks and slept.
Chapter Thirteen
This Troubled
Dream of Life
Max:
Max was outside. The countryside was strangely familiar; there was an impossibly steep, smoking volcano in the distance. He could see large, dark shapes circling the smoke-topped mountain; when he squinted they looked like dragons. Dragons?
Wild Strawberry: Book 3 Ascent Page 13