by Ricky Fleet
Winston felt uneasy despite being alone. It was as if he was being watched, though nothing emerged from the shadows to greet him. The windows of the administrative building were dark and empty of life as well.
“You’re just giving yourself the heebie-jeebies,” Winston told himself.
Behind the non-ferrous store was the huge conveyor belt and his natural curiosity wouldn’t be ignored. Walking up the slope, the peak dropped off into a large catchment area with a series of toothed steel cylinders laid side by side. Hit by an epiphany, Winston nodded. It was obvious the machine was used to chew up metal into more manageable chunks before being loaded for recycling. If he wanted to, he could step down and walk around the rim of the drum while holding the rail, but he didn’t want to risk falling in and breaking a limb. The opening was eight feet wide and the same in depth, with a recessed ladder for maintenance access. Descending the ramp, he hopped off and sat inside a partly stripped Volvo to think. He was safe for now, but the compound was lacking any form of water and food so he couldn’t stay. If the prison showed him anything, it was that the cries of the zombies only summoned more to investigate. The fifty or so at the wall could easily multiply over the coming days, trapping him forever.
Leaving the comfort of the spongy seat, he walked over to the tipper truck and climbed aboard. The interior smelled of stale cigarettes and Winston grimaced. Grasping the steering wheel, he looked at the pedals and gear shift. All he knew of lorries was that they had a lot more gears than cars, which terrified him. On his rare driving lesson, the combination of finding the bite point on the clutch while pulling away generally ended up with a stalled engine. That was the last thing he needed with a swarm on his tail. The compound had a large open space, but not enough to really practice safely on, so he climbed down and breathed deeply to remove the tobacco taint. That left only three cars parked by the offices, the crane, or the digger. The cars would be even more susceptible to being bogged down by a crush of bodies, which left the heavy machinery.
“What on earth are you thinking?” Winston sighed, staring at the two silent behemoths.
For sheer muscle, the digger with its squat body and deep bucket, was the winner. The only drawback was a much lower cab within arm’s reach. The crane cab was set higher to give the driver a better vantage point to observe their work. Both were fitted with caterpillar tracks and looked like they could handle some of the more challenging obstacles that may lay between here and the castle. Unsurprisingly, neither cab had the keys in the ignition or hidden behind the sun visors. It left him no alternative but to search the offices and any danger they contained.
Reaching a serving hatch, a piece of laminated paper was stuck to the wall saying ‘cash paid only with photographic ID’. Trying to see inside, the gloom didn’t reveal too much and he banged on the glass to check for lurking undead. Unsure if the moans came from within or from those at the gates, Winston waited a few more minutes just in case. Nothing slammed into the glass or tried to reach through the small payment window, so he moved onto the main door. Pushing inside, the smell of rotten meat washed over him and he wished he was back in the truck with the cigarette stench. Now that he was inside the offices, the sounds of biting teeth were louder which indicated he wasn’t alone. Brandishing the hatchet, he crouched low and swept the room with the torch, revealing nothing.
“Hello?”
There it was again; gnashing teeth of the undead. Winston couldn’t understand it. The volume indicated they were very close, but the room was totally devoid of movement. Stepping carefully around the desks, he scanned the floor section by section until he reached the rear. Blood coated every wall and even the ceiling. Laid on the carpet were two severed heads and their skeletons. He couldn’t use the word bodies as the bones had been gnawed clean and ribs chewed open to get at the vital organs within. Heart racing, Winston scanned the room again. Whatever zombie had done this would have found it impossible to escape the yard and would be lurking somewhere out of sight. That must have been what caused his unease when he first looked around. Something just didn’t add up and a tingle of apprehension raced up his spine. The heads had been chewed off which was obvious from the ragged neck wounds, but he had never seen a body picked totally clean of flesh. Once reanimation had taken place, the zombies seemed to know it was tainted and moved onto another victim. Lacking an answer to the conundrum, he hacked into the two glaring heads to still their movement.
Piles of cash had been scattered from a small safe by the payment window and he found himself on hands and knees gathering it up. After a few seconds, he could see how ridiculous he was being. “What do you think you can buy, you idiot?” he muttered and tossed the worthless paper away.
This place and its eerie goings on was playing havoc with his mind, so he decided to get away as quickly as possible. Finding a wall mounted locker, the faceplate was open and inside hung a selection of keys. Removing the only bunches which were large enough to be for starting engines, he peered from the doorway out into the grounds which had taken on an ominous watchfulness. Hurrying to the digger, he decided to leave it in favour of the height of the crane. Certain he could hear furtive movement, he twirled on his heels and hacked out at thin air. Nothing was behind him or anywhere in the vicinity, but he still felt eyes watching.
Climbing up into the safety of the crane cab, he closed the door and sighed with relief. At least up here he was out of reach of a surprise attack. The buttons, switches, and levers were a total mystery to Winston and he would need to take a few hours to feel comfortable with each function before venturing out of the compound. Pushing the key into the ignition he held his breath and twisted. Nothing happened, so he repeated the procedure with no more success than the first attempt. It had only been a few months since the dead took over the earth and any batteries in the vehicles should still have a small amount of charge at least. Sighing with disappointment, he opened the door and warily descended. He remained unchallenged while getting into the excavator and began to relax a little. If there were any dead in the yard they would have found him by now.
The controls were laid out differently in the machine and he found the ignition and pushed the key in. Praying silently, he twisted and was rewarded with the same silence. There was nothing, not even a weak attempt at the engine trying to turn over. Winston was no mechanic but he knew that the rate of leakage of current shouldn’t have caused both machines to be totally dead. Looking around the cab, he noticed a sticker which had started to curl away from beneath the arm of the chair. Flattening it back out, the words ‘battery isolation switch’ were printed on the yellow background. It was then he noticed the hinge on the back of the wide armrest. Lifting the cracked leather a black switch was hidden within. It was flicked towards an electrical bolt with a line through it, so Winston switched it over. Closing his eyes, he begged Jesus, Buddha, and all the Norse Gods for their aid. The engine grumbled and coughed weakly, then caught and roared with a plume of black smoke belching from the exhaust.
“Yes!” Winston shouted, bouncing excitedly in his seat.
The fuel gauge showed three quarters of a tank of diesel which would be ample to reach Arundel. Choosing to leave the engine running lest it not start again, he jumped down and climbed back into the crane. A dark patch of faded adhesive showed the position of the missing sticker and the armrest also concealed the electrical isolator. Trying the key again, the engine was less eager to comply and only by pumping a couple of times on the gas pedal did the engine finally submit. With a juddering vibration, it started to labour until Winston stamped his foot down and revved for all he was worth. After a few seconds, he removed his foot and the engine took on a comfortable rhythm. The dial showed just over half a tank which would also be more than enough to get to the castle, but he would burn a certain amount getting used to the mechanisms. Worst case scenario would be siphoning from the digger or truck at the main gate to replenish his supply before setting off. Arrows marked out the hydraulic control levers
and a gear stick showed forward and reverse. Taking the parking brake off, he ground the machine into first gear.
“Here goes nothing,” he whispered and lifted his foot from the clutch.
With a jolt the crane jumped forward and nearly stalled. Practicing a few more times he became more comfortable with the bite point and in less than five minutes he was trundling out into the scrapyard at a snail’s pace. First doing a few figures of eight to get used to the steering, he then switched to reverse. It wouldn’t do to get trapped and not know how to retreat from a situation he may find himself in. Pride swelled at the swift learning and he felt better than at any point for days. Approaching the entrance gates slowly, he stood up and could make out the waiting crowd. The noise had drawn the previous pursuers around the sides and they too had joined the gathered dead. Numbering over a hundred, Winston was unhappy about the prospect of trying to roll through them. The crane was probably capable, but what was the point of taking a risk until absolutely necessary?
“Shall we crack some skulls?” Winston asked with a mischievous grin.
Using the controls, he extended the boom and lowered the jib and swinging steel claw over the horde. Pulling the lever back and forth, the solid metal clanged as it crashed repeatedly down into the zombies. Although deadly to a human, the slow speed of descent meant it only pushed the dead to the ground and they quickly regained their footing. Winston scowled in thought.
“How about popping some pus filled heads?”
Pulling another arm, the claws opened and closed. Hydraulically rated to grasp and carry tonnes of metal, the clamping blades crushed the bodies of the undead like grapes. Heads burst under the compression and reaching arms were torn off in a welter of green blood. As satisfying as it was, the speed of destruction was far too slow and more were joining the fray than he was killing. Looking to his left, the Mercedes Benz of the owner was parked by the offices alongside the other staff cars. Opting to try something else, Winston swung the body of the cab round and dropped the arm onto the roof of the luxury motor. Glass shattered from the impact and pulling the lever again, the claws found purchase through the windscreen and passenger windows. Lifting the vehicle high into the air, he swung the cab around and the pendulous motion of the two tonnes of metal nearly toppled the crane completely.
“Whoa, slow down,” he gasped as the rocking subsided and the tracks settled to the ground again.
It was a silly mistake borne of panic and he moved the car the remaining distance at a much slower pace. Hovering above the dead like the Sword of Damocles, one yank of the controls released the claws and sent the Mercedes crashing to the ground, squashing any unfortunate enough to be stood below. With a yell of triumph, Winston was ready to repeat the procedure until it dawned on him he would be blocking his only exit by trying to bury them in steel.
“Shit!” he muttered and rubbed his face.
Any zombies close enough to hear the commotion had arrived and Winston was relieved to see no more approaching. Using the remaining two cars, he flattened another twenty undead, but ensured the vehicles left him a clear route out into the road. Seeing the fuel gauge had dropped to just over a quarter tank from the training and work it had carried out, he wondered what to do next. Guessing at around fifty zombies left unharmed, a memory flashed into his mind. On his eighth birthday, an uncle had given him a large, empty whiskey bottle with a thin slit cut into the cap. The idea was that he would fill it with pocket money and loose change which he could earn from chores. Once filled he could hand it all into the bank and buy himself a neat toy. Helping to get him started with five shiny pound coins, his uncle never found out that his parents quickly disposed of the gift. Chores were mandatory and they would never countenance paying him. It brought a fresh lump to his throat which he swallowed down with no little effort. Turning in the seat, he looked at the conveyor belt and the huge catchment space for the metal shredding. If he could lure them to the top, they may be tricked into falling inside the machine, thus trapping them forever.
“Ok, let’s do this.”
Positioning the jib of the crane against the left-hand section of steel gate, he reversed slowly until it swung open just enough to let one zombie through at a time. Leaping down from the cab he rushed across the yard and stepped up onto the motionless conveyor belt. Clapping his hands and gesticulating wildly, the undead started to funnel through towards him. A procession of partly eaten, rotting corpses shambled over and when they got close enough to touch he spun around and climbed to the peak. His foot was starting to ache with the cold and stepping onto the frigid, metal rim of the shredder only added to the discomfort. Shuffling around, holding onto the safety rail until he was facing the zombies, he watched as they clumsily boarded the belt and came for him. A pair of women, one thin and one obese, toppled into the bucket and landed on their heads with a sickening crunch. The thick metal teeth buried themselves inside the skulls, killing them instantly. The column of zombies advanced upwards, reaching for Winston before falling to join the twisted mass of flesh thrashing in the container. Lacking cognitive function, the zombies couldn’t regain any footing to extricate themselves. Winston waited for the last body to join the throng before climbing down the rear access ladder. Green mucus and blood drizzled from the chute into the waiting metal container below as the corpses ravaged themselves on the cutting blades. The smell was enough to make Winston gag and he stepped away before he threw up his breakfast.
“Time to hit the road,” he exclaimed.
CHAPTER 14
Eldridge had never been fond of heights nor the ocean and nothing had changed, even with her military experience. Any exercise which involved abseiling down a cliff face or shimmying across a rope on the training yard filled her with dread. Absurdly, the fear of a night time chopper drop was even more terrifying than the firefight which almost always ensued when boots touched the ground. Tracer rounds whizzing past her head were a price worth paying for putting solid earth beneath her feet.
As the helicopter circled the impressive destroyer and the pilot radioed for landing permission, she marvelled at the power of the floating monster. A billion pounds of stealth plated, missile laden doom floating in the English Channel roughly a mile from the Isle of Wight. In active service, she had been a shield for the larger task group of ships and would have eventually been absorbed into the main aircraft carrier battle group. The partly constructed Queen Elizabeth carriers would now rot away over the centuries as the construction buildings crumbled and Mother Nature regained what was once hers. In a world where a tin of canned ham was life, the prestigious vessel seemed a symbol of the rapacious greed of those in power. Inevitably, a link could always be found between a politician and those offering state of the art weaponry contracts.
“We’re coming in to land. Hold on, it’s a bit choppy,” explained the pilot through the headset.
At the word choppy, it became apparent just how much the ocean wind was buffeting the craft. Eldridge clutched the rail for dear life as it bobbed and settled towards the massive ship. Waves crashed against the side of the destroyer, surging over the deck before cascading back into the ocean.
As if reading her mind, the pilot turned and smiled, “Not to worry ma’am, Dauntless is repositioning to account for the swells. We will have you down and stowed before the weather gets too bad.”
As the Dauntless shifted position the severity of the impacts diminished and the water climbed at the bow instead of washing over. The pilot took the opportunity and followed the directions of the marshalling personnel to set down safely. One of the drenched seamen opened the door and guided her through the driving rain to the ship itself. Ducking through the small hatch she was grateful for the reprieve from the English weather.
“Is that normal?” she asked about the waves, feeling the cold drizzle trace a line down her spine.
“It’s the navy,” he grinned and nodded at a smartly dressed marine who approached.
“This is Sergeant Zaffith, he w
ill take you to the admiral while we get the bird secured.”
With a final gust and slammed door, he was gone. Snapping her heels together Eldridge saluted the superior and he reciprocated. Middle Eastern in appearance, his neatly trimmed goatee beard accentuated a strong jaw and even teeth. His eyes were dark brown, almost black and regarded her with respect.
“We’ve all heard the stories of your bravery, private. Good work.” He reached out a hand and they shook firmly.
“Thank you, sir, but I just did what needed to be done,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“As we all must in these dark times. Please, follow me.”
They navigated the cramped passageways and climbed steadily until they reached a door marked ‘HMS Dauntless: Operations Room’ and a warning to turn off all mobile phones. Way ahead of you, Eldridge thought, remembering the frantic phone calls to home and the heartbreak when the busy tone was replaced with silence as the networks failed one by one.