by Ricky Fleet
The screens rolled and alternated between infrared and standard display. She recognised the general layout of Chichester and the north-easterly flight path of the Watchkeeper drone.
“I’ve done a circular sweep of Emsworth and the outlying villages increasing the distance by a quarter mile each time. No heat signatures at all apart from the fire itself. The noise drew in several thousand more zombies from the surrounding area.”
Eldridge was encouraged by the news. Not because they would need to fight even more of the dead, but by being drawn inward, Baxter would have likely run into them if he had made it clear of the artillery barrage.
“I’ve got to debrief with Admiral Wright in a few minutes and a Captain Hayward is taking over. I am glad about that as I’ve heard good things about him in Afghanistan.”
“What if he orders me to stand down on the search?” Morrow asked, worry evident on his face.
“Then you follow orders. We should play straight with the new captain if we hope to have any chance of helping them. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just have a feeling they are ok,” she said and Morrow nodded. He had the same feeling, though it could be the elation of being rescued from the jackboot of Baxter.
“It will be a while before the captain calls us together. I will use every minute to search the area they were last seen.”
“Good man. I may be gone for a few days so make sure to catch up on some sleep, ok?”
“Will do, ma’am,” Morrow replied and returned his attention to the screen.
****
Eldridge shielded her face from the frenzy of wind which was driven by the downdraught of the helicopter blades. Watching the descent, she rushed over once the craft landed and opened the door for the captain.
“Welcome to Thorney barracks, sir,” she shouted to be heard over the din.
“I’m sorry for the trouble you’ve had. I always had my suspicions about Lieutenant Baxter since he served under me in Iraq,” Captain Hayward shouted back.
“Am I to leave immediately, sir?”
“Can you spare me a few minutes first?” he replied.
“Of course, sir.”
They ran to the empty flight control booth while the rest of the captain’s squad disembarked and headed for the main building. Once inside, he shut the door to ensure they didn’t need to shout over the helicopter engine.
“I know all about Baxter and his mutinous actions and I’ll be dealing with his men in due course,” Hayward growled.
“Will they be put to death, sir?”
“No, though the bastards may well deserve it. Will the others support that leniency?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Of course,” Hayward nodded and pulled out two chairs.
“The worst of his group are already dead; we killed them during the firefight last night. Some of the others weren’t as brutal, but they still supported his rule and I don’t think the soldiers will ever let that go. We have them all in holding right now, sir.”
“They won’t get off lightly, I can assure you. Sadly, we are in the unenviable position of being some of the last living people in this world and we can’t weaken our position further. They will never be soldiers again, but they can serve a purpose doing manual labour and other tasks befitting their betrayal.”
“I understand. When you explain it like that, I know the others will see sense, sir.”
“Good,” smiled the captain, “Now, what is the current status of the base?”
“We have been on lockdown since day one. Major Albright was recalled to Dauntless many weeks ago…” Eldridge began until she saw the scowl at the mention of their base commander.
“Albright is dead. The fool wasn’t recalled at all and chose to try and reach his family. We lost a Chinook and four crew for that act of lunacy. My apologies, please continue.”
“We thought that might be the case. It’s a shame he didn’t afford us the same option, sir,” Eldridge muttered.
“We’ve all lost people, private,” cautioned Hayward at the tone, “I would have given the same order. Going on foot with the undead swarming around would have been suicide.”
“Sorry, sir,” Eldridge replied and continued, “Currently we have close to seventy thousand dead at our gates and only two hundred troops. We have one artillery team and the remaining Chinook crew all of whom were on Baxter’s side. Our food supplies will see us through at least a year with the diminished number of mouths to feed. Thankfully, we still have operational vehicles ranging from Foxhounds to the obsolete Warthogs which weren’t taken during the siege of Porton Down, sir.”
“And Baxter made no attempt to thin the numbers of dead? What has he been doing for the past months?”
“Nothing at all. We’ve been sitting here with our dicks in our hands while the world dies, sir,” she replied angrily.
“Well, as graphic as that mental picture is, we won’t be resting on our laurels any more. That will be all, private. Enjoy the hospitality on Dauntless and I’ll see you soon,” Hayward finished and made to leave.
“Sir?”
“What is it?” Hayward turned.
“We have troops in the field helping civvies after trying to reach a FOB we set up at Chichester hospital. Baxter tried to kill them, but I think they got away. I ordered our UAV specialist to search for them and comms is trying to reach them on an unauthorised frequency too, sir.”
“What’s your point?”
“It would mean the world to us all if we could find them safe and well. Will you call off the search?” she asked reluctantly.
Hayward smiled warmly, “Goodness, no, I’d give them a medal. The search will continue.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have a safe journey,” Hayward said and they saluted.
Pushing out into the cold, the wind snatched her breath away and she hurried over to the Lynx. The pilot twisted in his seat after hearing the door slide shut and nodded.
“Buckle up. We’ll be on Dauntless in twenty-five minutes.”
CHAPTER 13
The ashes in the stove glowed weakly in the darkness and the tumult from the entrance had almost ceased. Low moans were still audible as were scraping sounds from dead fingernails. Checking his watch, Winston was amazed to see the digital display showing it would soon be dawn. He had slept for a full twelve hours which would have led to a long lecture from his parents about how slothful behaviour was morally wrong.
“Thank God for the apocalypse,” he whispered.
The piled display logs were an inviting sight and it would have been so easy to stack them high and relax for the day, safe and warm. A change had been wrought in Winston that immediately discounted the option and he jumped to his feet with a creaking of seized joints. The floor had been unforgiving on his bulk even with the added mat and sleeping bag. Stretching out each limb to get the knots out, he started to think of his options. The front door would be suicide which left only the rear of the building, so he navigated the dark storeroom and lay down at the exit. Looking through a small crack visible underneath the blockade he could see the yard was clear as far as his awkward angle would allow. There were no corpses standing patiently by the door which at least gave him a route of escape. With dozens loitering by the entrance he didn’t relish the thought of them catching sight of him and beginning the pursuit all over again.
“Think, you loser!” he muttered.
Anger always manifested as self-reproach and he knew he was in real danger simply because he had feared some fierce looking prisoners. What a pussy, he thought, shaking his head in disgust. He could have been the comedy sidekick of Mike, protected and sleeping in a warm bed. The jokes were a way of putting up a shield that said, ‘don’t hurt me, I’m a funny guy’. Maybe it would have worked, maybe not, but in the cold light of day he could have kicked himself for being so cowardly. As it was, he was now stuck halfway between both the prison and the castle. Either route was dangerous and he couldn’t coun
t on the luck of finding a warm shelter again.
“You made the right decision, you don’t belong there,” he said and the undead heard his declaration. Their moans rose in fervour and their attack resumed on the door.
Looking around, Winston tried to come up with a plan to trap the zombies in the shop. He had all the weight he needed with the cast iron fires, but it was how to arrange them so he could make it to safety that perplexed him. Using the hydraulic trolley, he cleared the rear doors as quietly as possible and opened the door an inch. Old, rusting heaters and broken fireplaces were stacked against one wall and the other ran to meet a house to the north. The yard obviously acted as both a means of storage and a back garden for the home. A half-built tree house was gradually crumbling where the father would never get to complete it and Winston’s heart ached with sadness. His own father would never have dreamed of wasting time on his child in that way. The hobbies and freedom his parents enjoyed were far more important to them than bonding with their unwanted offspring.
Taking a few steps out into the frigid dawn, the enclosed space was totally sealed from view by the walls, with gates at the side of the business and the home itself. He had a clear run to reach the road beyond and make off across the next area of farmland. Satisfied he could leave the gathered horde without incident, he found himself continuing to ponder the ways to trap them, or even kill them. Perhaps he was tired of always trying to run instead of stand firm, but a plan started to form in his mind. Pouring water over the last embers in the hearth, Winston gathered all the flammable liquid and placed it onto the counter. Fire would kill them, but the last thing he wanted was a procession of blazing corpses chasing him until the brain finally burned. Using the trolley in the display area, he stacked staggered rows of the iron stoves in an effort to slow the dead down once they breached the shop. At the doorway to the rear store, he built a solid barricade with a hole in the centre for him to crawl through to safety. With everything in place and his backpack and gear stowed at the back door, he ripped open the bags of kindling and spread them across the room before topping them with logs and coal. It was awkward to walk over for Winston, which meant it should provide another obstacle to the zombies.
“Wakey wakey, my festering friends,” Winston yelled, slamming his meaty fist into the door.
Maddened by the temptation, the undead redoubled their efforts and hammered even harder. Pulling the stacked stoves, Winston dodged backwards as they fell to the floor with a heavy clang. Repeating the process, the weight holding the dead at bay was reduced enough for the plan to begin. The crush of bodies broke the flimsy lock and with an ear-piercing screech, the iron clawed feet started to grind across the floor under the weight. Cracking the caps off, he started to douse the whole area with accelerant while the door opened inch by inch. After the fifth bottle, the air was so astringent Winston’s eyes started to water and he had to retreat with the remaining liquid before passing out. Diving through the gap, he picked up the hatchet and waited patiently while the sounds of crashing and fumbling carried through.
“Hello,” Winston greeted as the first zombie leaned through the man-made tunnel, only to be hacked to death with the axe. Another tried to push through and was dispatched with a roar of hatred. The flesh was enough to seal the void and spraying the last three containers through any remaining gaps, he retreated to the rear door. Opening a box of matches, he took one out and lit the tiny trail he had laid earlier. Blue flames raced through the rear store and met the pooled fluid with a loud crump. A blast of hot air flowed over Winston and he could smell the hair burning from his singed eyebrows.
“You bloody idiot, you just had to watch!” he berated himself while checking how much remained of his facial hair.
The inferno was blazing and every chimney that rose from the showroom belched out flames and sickly sweet smelling smoke from the burning flesh within. Wrestling his backpack on, Winston looked down in horror as his stomach grumbled at the meaty fragrances wafting up his nostrils.
“What’s the matter with you?” he demanded of his rotund belly, “It’s not bloody barbecue in there!”
His gut rumbled in argument and finally settled down to a dull ache of emptiness. Taking out a high nutrition pack, he reluctantly left the heat of the blaze and headed north again out of the gated yard. Sneaking a look around the corner of the house, all was quiet in the dull morning light. Cars were abandoned in places but in the more rural areas the roads were practically empty. Another dilemma revealed itself as he finished off the cold meal; how the hell do I even get to the castle, he thought? Arundel wasn’t a sprawling city, but it had enough people to make certain he couldn’t just walk up and knock on the front door. The river skirting the grounds was one way to get closer, except he didn’t have a boat. Even if he could find one with oars the chances of him being able to row against the flow for miles was impossible. After an hour, he would be exhausted and slowly drifting out to sea, watching the shore shrink as the open ocean welcomed him.
“Sod that.”
Crouching low, he scurried across the road and hopped the boundary fence to the next field. Each step on the frosted mud crunched and the chill started to leech through his thick coat. With breaks in the trees, the uppermost turrets of the castle were visible before disappearing behind the evergreen branches again. It may only have been a trick of the light or a wisp of cloud, but he was sure one of the chimneys was issuing smoke. Distance thwarted his attempts to focus and he gave up trying to conjure a repeat performance when his eyes started to ache.
After a mile of trudging over the uneven terrain, Winston’s calves were burning with lactic acid. Taking shelter under a tree, he had a stretch and plotted the next step of his route. To the west was another soulless industrial complex, and to the east was a small group of houses. Seeking to remain stealthy, he opted to cut straight through the middle and give both a wide berth. The intersecting road was clear apart from the usual abandoned vehicles and he made it to the next field unseen. Craning his neck, he could just make out the low grumble of a horde of zombies, but the source was more difficult to pinpoint. Now that he had crossed half of the field, the massive warehouse buildings gave way to a scrap yard. Flattened cars were stacked high in rows and CCTV cameras were installed around the perimeter. Metal theft had been a real problem as the demand for raw materials forced the price ever higher. Skirting a hedgerow to reach the farmers gate, Winston located the commotion. His path was blocked by the high fence of the South Coast railway line and the noise was coming from the hundreds of zombies which milled around on the tracks. Looking east, he could see Ford train station and the remaining undead which were left after Kurt’s passing.
“Well you sure as hell aren’t getting through that!” he said dejectedly.
As far as the eye could see zombies waited on their own or small groups. Where they had come from he couldn’t imagine, but he would need to head westward for quite a way to see if there was any gap that he could use to hop over and reach the northern side of the line. Unseen and, until now, unheard, a group of corpses were crossing the field in his direction. Their casual gait and lack of animation meant that Winston was undiscovered for the moment. The only problem was they were headed straight for him, which would force him to flee towards the train line. If he became caught between the cadavers trapped on the tracks and the following herd it would be all over. Whichever way he opted to make a break for it he would be spotted, so without giving them an opportunity to get closer he ran for the junkyard compound. Stainless steel fencing panels had been used to keep out snoopers and potential thieves, Winston included. The smooth finish gave no handholds or places to climb and with increasing terror he searched for a way in. Passing the north-western corner, a mighty oak tree loomed; the branches close enough to attempt a jump. With a shriek of horror, another band of putrescent monsters rounded the southern fence, trapping him.
The wet bark was slippery and tried to pitch him to the ground more than once. With a desper
ation borne of fear, he ground the toes in and used the furrows in the bark to reach the lowest branch. Thanking God for his decision to strengthen his upper body before the dead rose, he swung a leg and pulled himself upright against the trunk just as the two masses converged below.
“You’re starting to piss me off!” Winston snarled.
If they felt hurt by the insult it didn’t show on their upturned faces. Blackened teeth chattered together from rotting gums as they imagined rending his tender body. Their dribbling maws were ghastly and Winston thought how much they resembled a nest of new-born chicks, mouths open to receive the regurgitated food from their parent. The decaying grey skin had none of the awkward feathered cuteness of hatchlings and he turned away before the running pus made him vomit. That thought brought a disgusting mental picture of him retching his breakfast into their eager mouths and he cursed his vivid imagination.
The aged tree was sturdy and he repositioned himself onto the branch which stretched towards the tall fence. Recognising the similarities between this endeavour and his pipework climb, he was getting sick and tired of being stuck above the undead. Using an overhead limb to hold onto, he started to edge further out on the branch. Getting to within six feet, it started to thin out and flex under his weight. Another foot and it was sagging close to their grasping hands. If they caught hold of it they would shake him loose, so with a yell of hatred he used it like a springboard and leapt for the top of the fence. The impact knocked his wind out and he clung on for dear life while his lungs recovered. A taller cadaver pushed forward and clutched the heel of his left boot, yanking on it and trying to dislodge him from the precarious perch. Kicking out, the shoe came off and Winston wasted no time in pinioning a leg up to straddle the metal barrier.
“Bloody hell! I only just got those!” he shouted at the lanky zombie who had stolen his footwear.
His weight started to hurt where it was perched on the pubic bone and he was relieved to see the crushed cars were close enough to reach. Swinging his other leg over, he used the windows and buckled bodywork like a ladder to reach the ground. Taking out his axe, Winston navigated the maze-like car graveyard until he came out upon the main buildings. No threat presented itself so he stowed the weapon and took in his surroundings. On one side was an open hangar with several heavily reinforced metal repositories. Tangled copper wire and pipe, brass taps and fittings, and aluminium were all piled ten feet high in the separate stockpiles. The words ‘non-ferrous’ were printed on a sign at the entrance and he tried to remember his science classes. If he was right, non-ferrous meant that it didn’t contain any iron and was thus more valuable than ferrous scrap metal like steel. A large, open bed truck sat by the entrance. When the facility had been operational, the metal would have been broken down and loaded up for transport by the two other machines that sat dormant within the garage structure. One was a typical excavator, but much larger and capable of reaching the high sides of the lorry. The other was an unusual crane with a hydraulic claw hanging from the jib.