by Ricky Fleet
“I wish I could come with you, but the admiral doesn’t want to put all his eggs in one basket so to speak.”
“It would have been good to have you by our side,” Eldridge replied, before saluting.
“I won’t stop asking. Keep your eyes on the sky and I might drop in one day,” he grinned and slapped on the side of the bird, before backing away and heading inside.
With an increase in pitch, the rotors turned faster and faster until they blurred completely. With an unsettling lurch, the landing skids left the ground and the aircraft took off across the ocean. Looking out of the window, a bright flash and a cloud of smoke belched from the bow of the ship. It was quickly followed by two more, and the three ballistic missiles raced off on their mission of destruction, exhaust trails dissipating with the wind.
CHAPTER 15
Halfway to the crane, the noise of limbs banging against the steel shredder was joined by a heavy panting and rapidly padding feet. Before Winston could turn he was hit from behind with enough force to drive him face first into the ground. Luck was on his side as the blow had caused his clothing to ride up his back and provide thick padding preventing the dog from clamping its jaws around the scruff of his neck properly. Shrieking in fear, Winston used his bulk and rolled over in an attempt to pin the canine beneath him. He could hear the snarling beast as it writhed to free itself from the weight and removed the axe from his belt with trembling fingers.
With a yelp of pain, the struggling body was gone and in a split second it was standing on his chest trying to chew at his exposed face. Holding an arm up to ward off the slavering maw, it bit down with enough force to fracture bones. If he hadn’t been wearing several layers of clothing the teeth would have sunk into the flesh itself. The pain was excruciating and all sensation fled the now useless extremity. The axe was fortunately in his other hand, but he was desperate not to use it.
“Please let go, boy,” he tried to coo at the crazed creature.
The prominent ribs of the Rottweiler showed it was close to starvation and the attack was a last, desperate attempt to survive. Winston was aware the only reason he was still alive was because of its weakened condition.
“I have food, boy,” he tried.
Instead of letting go, the dog tried to wrench at the arm causing him to scream out in pain.
“Please don’t make me do this,” Winston begged, raising the axe as far as his prone position would allow.
The animal couldn’t understand or be reasoned with; it knew it had to eat and the only food available was laid beneath him. With a cry of anguish, Winston hacked down and the blade cut deeply into the poor creature’s side. Driven mad by hunger it didn’t register the injury and he had to chop down again, this time damaging the spine. Issuing a whine of pain, it released its grip and tried to crawl away.
“I’m so sorry,” Winston sobbed, pulling the creature back with his good arm.
Dying, and with no more fight left in it, the dog stopped struggling. It lay cradled in Winston’s lap panting its last breaths as he gently stroked the filthy head. It was now obvious what had killed the workers in the office who had been trapped inside at the time of the outbreak. Once a guard dog, it had served its masters loyally until the pain of hunger had driven it to kill. On some instinctive level, it had known to separate the head and eat only the unsullied flesh of the bodies. Winston couldn’t lay any blame on the canine, it was just doing what all animals will do when given no other option.
Its deep brown eyes stared into his own as he whispered, “Go to sleep now, boy. You will never be hungry again where you’re going.”
The canine reached out a damaged paw towards his face and, without fear, Winston took hold of it and kissed it. With one final breath, the Rottweiler’s chest fell still and its body went limp. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks to mingle with the animal’s blood.
For several minutes, he just sat on the cold, wet ground, rocking the body of the dog as if it were a sleeping child. Oblivious to anything else in the world, a zombie could have entered the yard and approached unnoticed. If truth be known, Winston wasn’t even sure he would have fought back either. The new world was terrifying and brutal, with none of the love and compassion he sought. Who could say the survivors in the castle were any better than Mike and Debbie? Anyone able to make it in this world would need to be capable of violence far in excess of anything Winston thought himself capable.
Wiping the tears away, he gritted his teeth through the agony blazing up his arm and lifted the dog. Walking over to the Volvo he had sat in earlier, he lay the body across the back seats and covered it with his coat. Unheeding of the creeping chill he sat down in the driver’s seat. It would be so easy to find a lone zombie, allow it to bite him and then all the fear and pain would be gone. Suicide hadn’t been on the cards when poised on the ledge of the college building, but with the horror and inhumanity he had witnessed since those events, it was now a tempting option. His arm was already numb from the attack so it wouldn’t really hurt. After a brief sleep, he could join the multitudes of dead wandering the earth.
“And what if you end up killing someone as a zombie?” he asked himself.
It was an absurd question considering he would be unaware of the actions his reanimated body took. Or would he? Sitting up straighter, he had never given any thought to the possibility the dead may have some memory of their past life, but were unable to resist the compulsion to eat the living. That would be an unending nightmare far worse than struggling to survive in the new world. Any attempt to take his own life would need to involve brain trauma, and without a handy firearm he lacked the resolve to smash his own skull in.
Taking a deep, shaky breath he climbed out of the car. The adrenaline was wearing off and the first twinges of pain started to radiate up his arm. He managed to get the fingers moving which only accelerated the returning sensation.
Now I have to try and make it to the castle with one arm. Marvellous.
Saying a final farewell to the dog he had never known and which had tried to kill him, he made for the idling crane. Exhausted from the physical and emotional toil, he could barely muster the energy to climb the stairs into the cab. Shifting into reverse gear, he pulled the gate all the way open. Arms and legs kicked spastically from under the weight of the cars and he drove over them without hesitation, the crunching noises carrying over the grumbling engine.
Reaching the open road, the machine trundled along at a leisurely ten miles an hour and he weaved between the occasional vehicle. In a way, the deep depression was freeing. He was no longer paralyzed by indecision and fear. If he made it to the castle, great, but if he was to die this day then so be it. Here and there a zombie would step into the road and he just mashed them flat. It didn’t bring any satisfaction, they were just an obstacle to be overcome.
He passed homes, some of which were burned to the ground. Cars and trucks lay abandoned or overturned in ditches. After a few minutes the traffic thickened at the site of Ford train station. The twisted, burned carcasses of cars blocked the way from John’s train endeavours but the crane didn’t stop. Any that didn’t get smashed aside were pulled under the caterpillar tracks and Winston bounced around in the driver’s seat from the uneven terrain. Staring at the castle battlements, time seemed to stand still as he closed the final two miles to Arundel itself.
As he reached the outskirts of the town, the first homes appeared and the cars in the road became more numerous. Individual zombies gave way to small groups and then full crowds as he reached the first bridge. It was a straight shot to the main gatehouse but with the sheer weight of numbers he would never get close. Choosing to skirt around the south-eastern corner then head north to the lower walls, he felt his teeth baring in a snarl of repressed anger. The crane hit the swarm with a thud and the bodies were dragged beneath the tracks, bursting and coating the road thick with green gore. From his vantage point he could not only look down at the dead, but peek through the first-floor windows of eac
h house as he passed. Curtains concealed most of the rooms, but occasionally he could glimpse a bed, or a dressing table. He was shocked to imagine himself one day living inside a beautiful home, with a wife and children running around. Melancholy had quickly given way to an intense burning hatred for the injustices of the world, both natural and, more recently, supernatural. Living would be the ultimate act of rebellion against the new order of things.
“I’m going to kill every last one of you!” Winston screamed downwards as his machine punched through the crowd to clearer roads.
Looking back, the sight of the carnage he had wrought made him grin maniacally. Passing pubs that would never host a party again, expensive boutiques with products that were now worthless, Winston roared for all that had been lost. The newer construction gave way to the centuries old buildings which had been the centre of commerce in medieval times. Passing the gatehouse, the castle rose majestically into the afternoon sky. It was definitely smoke which lazily drifted away from one of the chimney stacks and he was certain he had seen a tiny head peering over the parapet before disappearing again. Rumbling on and flattening everything in his way, Winston reached the corner of the grounds which curved northward. Ignoring the private driveway, he twisted the wheel with his good arm and burst through a fence and the hedgerow beyond. His raucous passage had attracted most of the town and the undead horde was giving chase. Due to the slow speed of his transport, as soon as he stopped it would only be a minute or less before he was completely surrounded.
Angling between a row of beech trees, the windows of the castle caught the sun as he passed, creating a strobe effect of blinding light. Passing the main buildings, he arrived at the start of the upper bailey section and its enclosing stone barrier. The machine began to splutter and the fuel needle was touching empty. Any second the engine would falter and he would be stranded fifty feet from safety, so he swung hard to the left and aimed straight for the nearest wall. Slowing just inches from the grey surface, he used his good arm to raise the boom and extend the jib towards the lip of the barricade. It was only when he gathered up his backpack and opened the door he noticed the dark barrels all pointing down at him. The faces behind the sights were all business and he had no doubt they would fire if provoked. An increasing din from behind signalled the zombies had arrived and they swiftly circled his vehicle.
“I don’t suppose any of you ordered a crane?” Winston asked.
Men and women of varying ages stared down in silence without smiling at his attempt to break the ice. One man with dark hair and brown eyes whispered to a huge black man dressed in combat fatigues, but still they wouldn’t address him.
“If you’re worried about your food supplies, I can assure you I’ve just started a new diet and fitness regime.”
More steely glares and silence. Winston didn’t know what was more unnerving, the festering dead below, or the mute humans above. This was no better than the reception at the prison, but at least he’d known Mike and Debbie there. They had been totally psychotic, that much was clear, but they had been the closest thing to family he had ever had.
Sitting back in the driver’s seat, he called up, “If you’re going to shoot me, please make sure it’s in the head. I don’t want to come back as one of these things, they spend far too much time walking around and I’m not known for my love of exercise.”
A woman stepped forward and talked quietly to the two men. She was mid-thirties and very pretty, but bore the same mistrustful look.
“I was hoping to find Kurt and his family, but I suppose you must have turned them away. If they ever made it here at all,” Winston sighed.
Animated whispers passed between the watchers as the young man, who seemed to be in charge, rubbed his stubbly chin in thought. After a few moments, he spoke, “How do you know that name?”
“I was with Mike and Debbie up until a couple of days ago…” he started and stopped when the people on the wall glared with pure hatred. Fingers curled around triggers in readiness and the soldier scanned the area with his scope.
“Where the fuck are they?” the young man bellowed, “If they think they can attack us in broad daylight then they are even more stupid than I thought. You’re all going to die here.”
With more covert whispers, people started to disperse including the soldier and his assault rifle. Two ladies with pistols kept him in their sights and Winston held his hands up in surrender.
“Perhaps I should have chosen my words more carefully. When I said I was with them, I meant I travelled with them after they killed dozens of people in the Hunston convent.”
Faces stared aghast and he realised he had just more or less admitted to being party to mass murder, which wasn’t helping his case in the slightest.
“No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he babbled, “I was sheltering in the convent when they stopped by and let in hundreds of zombies. Everyone died, including the children.”
The way he had whispered the last words showed his true feelings to the massacre. He would forever be haunted by their faces as the dead poured into the small chapel and they realised it was all over.
“Where are they now?” asked the man, relaxing a fraction. He still watched the surrounding countryside carefully for any signs of stealthy approach.
“They made it to Ford Prison and hooked up with his brother, Craig. I was invited inside, but I am too pretty for prison; they use people like me as currency.”
This brought a slight smirk from the man above, who continued, “So those two maniacs just happened to let you live, do you think I’m a total moron?”
“I don’t know you well enough one way or another to make a judgement yet, but you don’t seem to suffer from any intellectual dysfunction,” replied Winston.
“What’s your name?” asked the man, trying to hide his grin.
“I’m Winston and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Time will tell if it’s pleasurable for you or not,” the man replied, smile gone. “While we wait for the signal that all is clear, or not, why don’t you tell me a story of how you turned up at my castle with one shoe, in a crane?”
“I can assure you they are safely hidden away with cutthroats and thieves. I come in peace.”
“Story. Now.”
“Ok my mistrustful friend, but it is a tale as epic as any of that containing Frodo and his merry band.”
“I thought you said you were alone?” pressed the man.
“It was a poor analogy. I should’ve said it was as epic as the tale of Frodo if he had been alone, freezing cold, and pursued by hundreds of walking corpses who seem to have an unhealthy obsession with his footwear.”
“Time’s wasting, and so is my patience,” he cautioned.
“Please accept my apologies, my ill-tempered friend. I have a habit of rabbiting on when I’m nervous,” Winston admitted and told a condensed version of his journey from the prison to the castle.
Multiple whistles echoed from around the perimeter, interrupting the exchange, and the man on the wall looked away at the source of the noises. When he turned around to face Winston once more, a lot of the tension was gone.
“So, it seems you’re alone after all. Which means you are one of the luckiest, craziest bastards I have ever met.”
“Is that a vote of confidence?” Winston asked.
“Maybe it is, Winston. I’m Kurt, but I imagine you already worked that out?”
“Well, yes. But I knew you would tell me in your own good time. I really do have no love for Mike and Debbie,” he said, telling a little white lie. “I was kind of hoping to take shelter with you. I can’t actually feel my foot anymore by the way.”
“What skills do you have which makes it worth letting you inside?”
“Aside from my acerbic wit and rugged good looks?” Winston joked, “None, really. I was great at playing computer games and keeping to myself if that helps in the apocalypse.”
“Not really,” Kurt replied.
> “I can kill zombies quite well too, does that count?”
“We can all kill zombies,” Kurt remarked, “It’s why we are all still alive.”
Winston fell quiet and thought for a better way of selling himself until he heard a commotion from above. The ladies were all hassling Kurt about being so mean and he was amazed to hear American accents fighting in his corner.
“Ok, ok,” Kurt bowed to the pressure, “Wait a minute and we’ll get a rope. You will still be locked in a room until I’m satisfied you don’t pose a threat. Sound fair?”
“On one condition,” Winston answered.
“You don’t appear to be in any position to be making demands. What is it?” Kurt was growing frustrated.
“Do you have a pair of shoes I could borrow?”
CHAPTER 16
“So how did it feel meeting the admiral?” asked Harkiss. Other faces around the mess hall table were just as eager to hear the story.
“Not what I expected,” Eldridge admitted, “I thought he would be all fire and brimstone, rain down hell on the godless bastards. Instead, he seemed as if he had already given up. I can’t blame him with all the people we’ve lost.”
“Did he give you any orders or are they classified?”
“The captain is to hold Thorney and prepare for an assault on Portsmouth in the new year,” she explained.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harkiss spat, “Two hundred versus a half million dead fucks?”
“Scared, are we?” she mocked light heartedly.
“You bet your ass I’m scared. Have you seen the crowd at our gates? It will be nearly ten times that number coming at us in the city.”
“Calm down before you pop a blood vessel,” Eldridge chuckled, “It won’t be like that. You may have heard the explosions earlier as I was on my way back?”