Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Absolute Zero

by James Loscombe

  At first she wasn’t sure why and she tried to ignore it. Then, one morning, while she was brushing her teeth, it came to her:

  She expected retaliation.

  In all of their discussions, she and Russell had never mentioned it, but it seemed obvious now.

  She put down her toothbrush without finishing. As quickly as she could, Beth left the bathroom and went to find Russell to get his opinion on the revelation.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Will Carter stood outside the town hall and looked up. He was twenty-three years old but small for his age. He’d lived amongst the Townies for long enough that the starvation rations had caused his muscles to wither and his skin to turn a pasty pale colour. His stomach rumbled but he was used to hunger. Margaret would have told him that if he could still feel hungry then he was fine. It was when you stopped feeling hungry that you needed to worry.

  He pushed open the door and walked inside.

  It wasn’t warm in the town hall but it protected them from the worst of the snow, the wind and the rain.

  Will hadn’t been there to witness the destruction of the car park, but he had been there to see them return. They had been covered in ash and not one of them had wanted to discuss what had happened. It was only later that he overheard Margaret and some of the others talking about it.

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The rail was cold and he was reluctant to go up. Sometimes it felt as if there was no place for him in the group, his purpose was ill defined. Although he was one of the younger members of the group he was still twenty-three years old, still an adult capable of contributing. If Margaret hadn’t been so soft on him she might have seen that and he might have been allowed to do something useful.

  Most of the group would be on the third floor, where Margaret had her office and most of the day to day business was conducted. Until they had been taken away, the prisoners had been kept in the basement. There was nothing on the first floor and only sleeping quarters on the second.

  Will went up to the sleeping quarters. Before Margaret had taken over the building, not long after the zombies had first shown up, these had been offices as well. Since then they had been converted into bedrooms, for the more senior members of the group, and dormitories for the youngsters. It was a constant reminder of his status in the group that he was still sleeping in the dormitory. Worse still, there were rooms available that he could have taken as a bedroom, but Margaret wouldn’t hear of such a thing.

  He walked along the corridor until he reached the boys dormitory. It was filled from floor to ceiling with bunk beds, three high, and there was barely enough space for a full-grown man to walk between the stacks. Not that it mattered to most of the people who lived there; the average age was probably around ten, but it made it awkward for him to get through.

  A group of boys looked up from a card game they were playing. When they saw it was him they looked away again. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with their childish games and they, at least, were listening to him.

  Will squeezed between the beds, and made his way to the fire escape. The door opened easily (the alarm had been disconnected back when they’d still had electricity) and he stepped out onto the deck. He briefly looked around, to make sure he wasn’t being watched, and then began to climb the fire escape.

  The door at the top was locked, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t want to go inside anyway. He crouched beside it and waited.

  On the other side of the door was Margaret’s office.

  Will had been inside many times, but she never spoke freely in front of him.

  There was a window in the door, one of those reinforced safety one’s with the lines running through it, so it could be broken without shattering. If he’d been standing up he would have seen the back of her head and the face of the person she was talking to.

  * * * * *

  It was cold at the top of the staircase but Will didn’t mind. He pressed his head against the door and closed his eyes. The muffled voices resolved and the words began to make sense.

  “…embarrassing.”

  “I know; we’re working on it.”

  “The whole town could’ve burned down.”

  “But it didn’t, did it? They knew what they were doing.”

  “Or they got lucky.”

  He wasn’t sure whose voice’s they were, but he knew that neither of them belonged to Margaret. For whatever reason, she was just observing the discussion, perhaps waiting to add her opinion or make a decision.

  “We need to strike back.”

  “With everything we’ve got.”

  “No more silly messages.”

  “We need to show them that they’re not going to intimidate us.”

  “What do you suggest?” Margaret said.

  There was silence, neither of the two other voices seemed to know what to say.

  “This isn’t over,” Margaret said, answering her own question. “These people are not going to get away with it. Don’t think that, please.”

  “You’ve got a plan?”

  There was a pause and Will imagined that Margaret was nodding. He sat up straight and held his breath, wanting to know what they were going to do.

  He had a secret belief that he could still prove himself to Margaret, that there was something he could do which would impress her enough to respect him. Maybe even allow him to join the guards or some other useful role. She might even reward him with his own room and he could be out of the dormitory.

  “We will do whatever it takes,” she said. “Clearly our attempts at diplomacy have failed and the explosion at the carpark proves that the only thing they understand is violence. We will match their aggression, I promise.”

  Will sat back from the door. He wasn’t sure what Margaret meant by that, but it didn’t matter. He had an idea.

  The convoy had tried to intimidate them with a grand statement and, he supposed, it had worked to some degree. So that was what they needed to do in return; a grand statement of their own, something that would show these people that they couldn’t just stroll into town and take whatever they wanted, that there would be consequences.

  He edged away from the door, doing his best not to make a sound. He hadn’t expected to leave so soon, but he couldn’t stay there now that there was a possibility he could prove himself to Margaret and the rest of the group. He needed to act quickly, before they beat him to it.

  * * * * *

  The preparations were simple enough. He knew where everything was kept in the town hall and, despite what had happened in the last few weeks, security had not improved. He walked back through the dormitory and along the corridor, the people who had been talking in their room were gone and he didn’t see anyone as he made his way down the stairs.

  His plan was simple: the convoy had blown up something of theirs, so he would blow up something that belonged to them. It didn’t matter what, he could decide on that later, right now it was only important that he found something to do the blowing up with.

  Will walked slowly through the series of complex corridors that led to the room where the weapons were stored. On the wall there were exposed pipes and electrical cables that no longer carried a current.

  When he reached the door he stopped, closed his eyes and listened. He waited a full minute before accepting that he was alone.

  He probably didn’t have long though. For all he knew Margaret had been talking to Brendan and Michael and between them they had reached a consensus on what to do next. They might already be on their way down to collect weapons.

  Will checked the door, just to make sure, and found it locked. A tiny piece of metal stood between him and the entire weapons cache. If he wanted to, and didn’t care about the noise, he probably could have broken the door down. Instead he turned and walked to the side.

  As expected the windows were propped open with blocks of wood. They were about nine feet above the ground and not very big, but he was a good jumper and slim.
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  Will took a final look around and then jumped.

  He caught the edge of the window and stifled a groan as the metal dug into his fingers. He hung there for a moment, gathered his strength, then pulled himself up.

  It was not the first time he had snuck into the weapons room, but it was the first time he had done so with any purpose, other than to see whether he could. He heaved himself through the small opening and into the dark room beyond.

  Getting down was a lot easier, although more painful. He dropped to the floor and gritted his teeth as the pain shot through his ankles and into his knees.

  The room wasn’t very big, but they didn’t have many weapons.

  There was some conflict in him. He was doing this to prove himself, but he also knew that it went against much of what Margaret believed in. She had fought against Brendan and Michael when they had wanted to attack the convoy, but she had also said, not more than ten minutes ago, that she was prepared to do whatever it took to get rid of them.

  So maybe she’d had a change of heart.

  And it wasn’t as if he was actually going to hurt anybody. His only intention was to scare them, just like they had tried to do to them at the carpark. It wasn’t as if he was going to start shooting people. He barely even knew how to operate a gun.

  Will did not have a lot of imagination. Before the zombies had come he’d been stuck in a dead-end, unfulfilling, job at the checkouts in Asda. Even there he had been passed over for promotion again and again. He was always ‘Just Will’ someone who wasn’t very important and who you only needed to show the bare minimum of respect to.

  He’d never had a girlfriend, had very few friends who weren’t on the other side of a computer screen, and spent most of his spare time playing games that he could barely afford to buy.

  Will glanced at the guns and recognised some of them from the shooting games he’d once played. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that just because he’d been a decent shot in Halo he would be any good with a real gun, but the sight of them stirred something in him all the same.

  At the other end of the room there was another door. This one didn’t even have a lock on it and he could feel the cool breeze from the open window on the other side. He could understand the desire to keep the contents of the room cool, but it still seemed like a stupid risk.

  Will opened the door.

  The smell was unique, charcoal with an acrid bite. The was enough dynamite in the room to level a small town, he thought, although it seemed unlikely that it all still worked. He would have to take enough to be sure and to cover himself in case some of it failed.

  He knew that he needed to be careful handling explosives, but he couldn’t afford to dawdle. Will took a canvas bag from under the bench in front of him and opened it. He carefully lifted the brown sticks off the shelves and put them into the bag.

  Will moved as quickly as he dared and soon made it to the stairs. He grabbed the handrail and forced himself not to run. The dynamite might not be faulty at all, might in fact be incredibly unstable and primed to go off at the slightest jolt.

  When he reached the ground floor he heard voices. They were coming down the stairs as he walked to the door. Will shifted the bag around so that it was on his front, and didn’t look back.

  They were close enough for him to recognise by the sound of their voices, by the time he reached the door. He imagined them at the bottom of the stairs, wondering what he was doing, but not caring enough to even ask him.

  Will pushed open the door and felt the cold air blast against his moist face. He wrapped his coat more tightly around himself and walked away from the town hall as quickly as he could manage.

  * * * * *

  Carningsby was quiet, except for the sound of his boots crunching the snow. It was a strange sort of peace that caused him more trauma than tranquillity. The dozen sticks of dynamite in his bag weren’t adding to his sense of calm.

  A few months previously they’d had a group of gypsies show up, but they’d been so quiet that Margaret hadn’t even known about it until they were preparing to move on. Not like the convoy at all. They were behaving as if they didn’t care who knew they were there.

  Once he was out of sight of the town hall he stopped.

  It was only a mile from the town hall to the street where the convoy had settled, but in the snow, it would take him almost an hour to reach it. He kept a slow but steady pace, ready to stop and hide himself if the need arose. He didn’t expect to see anyone else in the town, but there was always the chance and, regardless of which side they came from, it would be better for him not to be noticed.

  He didn’t stop until the street was in sight. Even from a distance of a few hundred metres he could hear them. They were shouting and laughing and he imagined they were mocking the people from the town who had let themselves be walked all over.

  It would be his great pleasure to wipe the smile off their smug little faces, and even better was the assurance that Margaret would be grateful, that she would be pleased with him and he would finally earn her respect.

  Will carefully removed the bag from his back and began the final leg of his journey to the street where the convoy lived.

  * * * * *

  Will stood as far away as he could, whilst still being able to see. The building which he had placed the explosives in was at one end of the street, while the occupied houses were at the other. There was a small chance that the fire which followed the explosion would spread, but it was wet enough that they would have time to put it out.

  He hoped.

  The trigger that he had set up was rigged to fire five minutes after he set it.

  Will watched the street. He could make out a few people but they were too far away to identify.

  He started counting in his head.

  It happened before he reached a count of sixty.

  Will realised at once that something had gone wrong. The explosion was huge, much bigger than the one at the carpark had been. He could feel the heat on his skin from where he stood and the fire had already spread to two houses further along the row.

  There was screaming and he stood there, transfixed for a moment, unable to take his eyes away from the scene of horror that he had created.

  People ran out of nearby buildings onto the street. There were desperate cries for help and others of confusion.

  When he saw the little children, Will turned away.

  He was always quick to accept responsibility and this time was no exception. This wasn’t what he had planned to do, this went far beyond ‘scaring’ them.

  He had to leave.

  They would round themselves up soon and it wouldn’t take them long to realise that the explosion was the work of people from the town. Then they would come looking.

  Will looked back towards the town hall and knew that he should go there. Margaret would need to be told what had happened so she could prepare people for the attack that would likely follow. But it now seemed clear to him that, when he told her, she would be far from impressed. She would, in fact, be furious and he would be lucky to keep a place in the group at all, he certainly wouldn’t be allowed to go on any future missions.

  He turned to look at the road that led between the town hall and the street which was now filling with smoke. There was another option: he could leave the town and take his chances on the road. He might even find another community where he would receive more respect.

  Or he might get picked up by a zombie and killed before he’d gone more than a few miles out of Carningsby.

  Neither option was very promising, but he couldn’t just stay where he was and wait for people to find him. That would be the worst of all outcomes.

  Will turned back and forth, struggling to come to a decision. A part of him wanted to stay and a part of him wanted to go. A third part of him didn’t want to have to make the decision at all.

  He imagined what Margaret would look like when he gave her the news and realised that he didn’t have it in
him. It was the coward’s way out, for sure, but it was the only thing he could bring himself to do.

  His departure from Carningsby hadn’t been planned so he had nothing in his bag. The clothes on his back were barely suitable for a long journey and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He was already weak and malnourished. But he kept walking. Past the fire, which warmed him briefly, and down towards the dual carriageway that ran through the town centre.

  There were plenty of cars that he could shelter in for the night, it was how he’d escaped from London, but he didn’t stop. Now that he had made the decision to go he seemed unable to decide to stop. He thought that he might keep going forever.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Beth was a long way from home when the explosion went off. She was sitting by the side of a frozen river, opposite the super zombie. She didn’t even know why she had come to see him.

  The super zombie couldn’t talk but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy his company. She sat on her haunches, running her hand through the snow, not knowing quite what to say to the creature. The more time she spent with it, the more it seemed like Dale.

  The sound of the explosion barely reached her and, when it did, could easily have been mistaken for a sheet of snow falling from a roof. She barely paid any attention to it.

  They sat in silence, but she was sure that something passed between them. A mutual understanding, perhaps, or a shared connection. She didn’t think of the super zombie as being Dale, but they were from the same source. The super zombie then, was perhaps a brother or a cousin, someone who she could share her grief with.

  She didn’t know how long she had been there, but when she stood her legs were numb and she realised how cold it was. The super zombie stood and reached out a hand to steady her, but she waved it off.