Great Bitten (Book 2): Survival

by Warren Fielding

  "You haven't got a weapon," I blurted, fumbling for my own knife and turning to get Rick and Trish's.

  "You didn't look properly," she responded, waving a hatchet at me. She looked confident at using it. It was a short weapon. I didn't want to imagine this young woman having to get into such close quarters to deal with the undead.

  "Rick? Business."

  Rick turned to me and I pointed at the corpses heading our way. He nodded grimly and pulled his own knife. Trish clearly looked upset that we'd concealed weapons from her, but if we'd planned on using them we would have obviously done so by now; there was no point in her crying over little lies, and she needed to learn to be more careful around strangers. I pushed on the shoulder of the forerunning girl, indicating she should hang back. I didn't care if they were experienced in dealing with the undead. Children should not be put in these situations. Nothing would be normal again for me mentally, but there were still some things that did not feel right. A teenage girl with a hatchet was most certainly one of them.

  We covered about half the distance from us to the zombies. I put an arm across Rick's chest so he stopped. I wanted to assess what we were up against. There were five of them. It was an odd number to have clustered. Perhaps it was a family that had finally escaped from a house. Perhaps they were forerunners to a larger horde. I shook that one off. If a horde were on its way, I hoped I would be able to smell it. And these were the slow ones. If we were really that exposed, if the clamour from my escapade on the car roof had travelled that far, I would have expected some of the faster infected to have hot-footed it to us by now.

  They were close together. Despite their lack of overall coordination, it appeared they would probably stay clustered that way until they got all the way to us, but our greater speed should make taking them down a relatively simply affair. None of them looked like young children, which was a small relief.

  "Do we need a plan? Or shall I say you take the right, I'll take the left, and we'll meet in the middle?" I asked Rick through the side of my mouth.

  "That sounds like enough of a plan to me. Are they all safe?" Rick shot back.

  I checked again. The girl I had spoken to was holding back, and the one called Rose was now by her side. Trish stood slightly in front of both of them, her role as protector coming to the fore. The older woman seemed happier to let us handle the situation. She wasn't stupid.

  Confident at our success against a small cluster of slow foes, we both strode forward. Our paces were long and we broke the rest of the distance in no time. My guess at their being a family was probably unfounded. The closer I got, the more they all appeared to be adults. The other guess, therefore, was a group of survivors that had ceased surviving. It didn't matter, so long as they didn't get in the way our own survival efforts.

  I picked off the first zombie on the left-hand side of the group. It was an overweight young man in the remnants of a t-shirt that hadn't fitted him properly. There had been a goatee once upon a time, but half of his face was missing, his left cheek and much of the face bitten out, exposing the bone and sinew of his nasal cavity. An eye slid lazily round to asses me for deliciousness. I took advantage of his wounds and drove my knife up into a stabbing motion, sending a terminating strike straight to his brain. I withdrew the blade at the angle of the dead man's fall, hoping for a clean exit. The knife came free easily, and I stood back smoothly, glad to have the first one out of the way. The next man in was old—older than the one we'd had to cut down at the house at the bottom of the hill. His aged body had not been quick in life. In death, I was surprised he had been able to keep up with his companions. I pushed at his forehead and held his head as taut as I could whilst I drove my knife in and up through his eye. I baulked at the resistance as the knife pushed up into his brain. I ignored my rising bile. Rick was dispatching his own targets with what seemed like impassioned ease. The last undead was caught between the two of us, and it didn't seem to know which one of us posed the greater threat or, I suppose more accurately, which one seemed like the more favourable meal. Rick kicked at its knee. This brought it down on the damp grass of the verge. He walked around the back of it and kicked it fully down before it could react. With the zombie prone on the ground, he knelt in the middle of its back. Pushing the head down into the mud, he exposed the neck and stabbed into the spinal column, severing any remote chance of movement. Yanking the knife out, he cleaned it against the stained clothing. I hadn't registered the age or gender of Rick's last kill and I wondered why I even tried. These weren't people any more. Rick sighed once before turning and spewing over the empty grass. His own actions tipped me over the edge. I made it to the central reservation before I too leaned over it and let go of our breakfast. I looked up to see Trish approaching us. She wasn't looking at us. Sensible lady, she was checking to see if there would be a second act to follow. For now, there wasn't and we were reasonably safe. A hand dropped on my shoulder. It was gentle. It didn't belong to Rick.

  "Thank you. You didn't have to do that." Trish’s voice was quiet, and, I thought, a little despondent.

  I pushed at her, asking her to stand away. I spat out the last of my bile, repulsed at the constriction and tainted taste in my throat. I didn't remember vomiting that much in my youth. It was starting to become a habit. A new touch appeared, this time on the small of my back.

  "Get it all out. It's normal, reacting like this to killing," Trish said.

  I was glad she thought we were still normal and naïve to all of this. In my fledgling experience, there weren't many normal people left in this country. It was important to me that people thought I was a stable human being. When I was matched to men like Austin, and felt some kind of affinity with people like him, I knew my own humanity would be truly lost. I nodded, acknowledging her words. I felt her hand lift from me and assumed she was going to check on Rick. She knew nothing other than we were together, and together we had dealt with her threat. I heard him mutter something, then both walked past me, beckoning me towards their camp. I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, suddenly feeling very parched. I grabbed some water from the boot of our car, taking a secretive and grateful swig from a small bottle before heading back to the rest of the group. The young ones had been salvaged from the car and were back in their fixed position by the oil barrel. Rose was, again, looking after them. I gave Trish and the still unnamed, although I assumed eldest, of those under her care a friendly smile.

  "How many of them do you normally get coming here?" I asked.

  "We see them every day, though we usually don't get so many as five in one go. They're all so slow though, so I don't suppose it matters how many of them we get as long as we see them early," Trish said. "Scarlet here is handy enough. She's already dealt with an unfortunate number of those things. They don't really phase us anymore. So don't think you can use this little incident as leverage to convince us to come with you, no matter how grateful I am that you decided to help us."

  Rick didn't argue, and wandered back to the BMW. "Come on, Warren, we'll need to transfer our stuff."

  I followed him mutely—something Trish had said was nagging at the back of my mind. It wasn't until I closed the boot on the last bundle that it came to me. I beckoned her over.

  "You said earlier that you were fine dealing with those things. Have you ever seen the fast ones?"

  She narrowed her eyes at me, suspecting some kind of trick. "There aren't any fast ones. They're all slow. They can barely walk. They're like drunks walking through a swimming pool."

  I shook my head. "They're not the only type. There are fast ones. The fast ones can make noise, too. Have you noticed how the slow ones are silent?"

  Scarlet visibly shuddered, holding her hands across her body and hugging herself. She knew how scary the silent ones were. Both women nodded. "Well they're not all like that. A friend I had, had a theory. The ones that are slow are dead people. They've been infected and died from their wounds. But the ones that are fast—and trust me when I say th
at I think I'd have problems outrunning the fast ones in a short sprint—they're people that have just been wounded and then turned."

  Trish looked confused. "What do you mean? Infected is infected. They get bitten, they die, then they come back as those things." She waved in the general area of the five bodies, which looked like they were being left to the elements, at least for the time being.

  "It's not as simple as you're saying." Rick told her. "Warren's right. We've seen the fast ones. He's saved me from a couple of them, too. They're not like the others, and it makes sense. Think about it. If you're bitten, say on the arm or something, and it's not enough to kill you—you're just diseased, nothing more. The slow ones are the way they are, we think, because they have rigor mortis setting in. The body is trying to react to death in the ways it knows how, but the disease is pushing them past it. Think about it. Dead people don't breathe. Dead people don't talk. I mean, I know dead people aren't meant to walk around and eat people either, but we're having to make some allowances given the extenuating circumstances."

  "Your tone of voice isn't very serious." Trish sounded guarded, suddenly untrusting of the two strange men in front of her. "If these fast zombies are such a threat, how come we haven't seen them? I don't believe that so many of our people were attacked so badly that they died—

  there must be a lot of these fast ones you talk about. If that's the case, then where are they?"

  It was a good question, and one that neither of us had a fair answer to. I gave her the only one I thought was suitable. "You've been lucky so far. There will be a day that luck runs out."

  There was nothing left to say to Trish, or to Scarlet. The young woman stepped forward, looking like she wanted to say something to us. I could see from her eyes a sense of curiosity, or perhaps a desire to come with us. She must have been fearful, being forced to assess her own situation from our eyes. She must have felt vulnerable, being old, yet still so young, and feeling the burden of responsibility for the lives of others at her age. For Scarlet's sake, I tried one last time.

  "We really believe it's safe at the community. With the amount of people they have, they can't be running some kind of sadistic autocracy."

  "Whose word have you got to believe, Warren? I’ve met people that claimed to be heading there, and I’ve made my choice. If you want to put your lot in with a bunch of perverted, sadistic strangers, then feel free. We've survived this long. I'll keep taking my risks out here."

  "And what about your girls? Don't they deserve a say in whether they think it's safe out here?"

  Trish pushed up her chin. "They're not old enough to have a say in that."

  I looked from her to Scarlet, then back again. The girl was starting to blush under my scrutiny. "But they're old enough to help you kill what threatens you?"

  Trish was a decent enough person to blush in response. "We do what we must," she said quietly, "to keep our own safe. I believe it will be safer out here, than caged in with men that might hurt us."

  Rick had already started walking away. I joined him, not looking back for fear of upsetting Scarlet more. I bit my tongue as Rick started the ignition. I hadn't forgotten my resolution to clear the air with him, to make sure we were working for the same team. But now wasn't the time. Trish's resolution to stay out in the open and exposed to the threats of the wild, rather than come with us, had made me newly fearful of what unknown communities held for us. I drifted into a daydream of seasides and piers, and women and children that had already died because they were following and believing in a stranger who had told them that where they were and what they were doing was safe, and that all the hard decisions had already been made for them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "As I remember rightly from the way we approach things, this is the bit where we sit and argue, pretending to plan until you decide what you want to do and go ahead and make things up as you go along."

  "Actually now that you mention it, Rick, there was a thing or two I wanted to chat about."

  He turned off the ignition. I could hear birds. There were no other signs of life, or unlife. We had pulled into a layby a mile down the road from the gates of the community, if our directions were to be believed. We had encountered a small number of the undead on the way. The slow ones mostly, and we had just drifted past. There had been one pant-wetting moment, though, when a sprinter had thrown itself into the back of our car. We had just been idling down the road making sure we could avoid any sudden obstacles ahead. Rearview mirrors weren't exactly a necessity, so Rick hadn't been checking it. I had been distracted by trying to find something other than the standard emergency broadcasts on the radio, which hadn’t changed throughout the journey. When the car was pushed forcibly forward, we had both been a little shocked. I had turned around to see a female face snarling through the rear window. I had shouted in alarm and Rick had turned to look, too. The zombie had hissed, spitting bile and black blood at the window. Rick's first shocked reaction had been to turn on the rear windscreen wipers. I giggled in confusion as coagulated blood—and whoever else knows what—was smeared over the entirety of the glass. Rick had then come to his senses, hitting the accelerator hard. It had been obvious why Trish wanted rid of this car. It was a lovely executive number, pristine interior and spacious. Perfect for a group like hers. But it ran like the proverbial shit off a shovel, and would absolutely monster through a tank of fuel given the chance. We had broken every speed law ever written down in this country to make sure there was plenty of distance between us and that most dangerous of threats. I had been right. Trish was lucky that she hadn’t been attacked by these fast ones yet.

  Our attack had happened a few miles ago. We had pulled over in this layby when Rick had decided we were safe enough. Now he wanted to talk tactics before we moved to our destination.

  "Go on then. Let's chat."

  "What do we actually want to do once we get into this place? If it's structured like they say, then I expect there are going to be jobs we have to do to keep our place. Do we just fit in, then try to track Austin down from there?"

  "I don't see how we have a choice either way. This place is safe. I'll happily go back to doing nine to five if it means I get safety in numbers. They might not have heard of Austin. In which case, we'll need to explain that we'll need to also find Carla. They should understand. There are going to be enough families in this place."

  "What if they don't let us take time to find her?"

  "Oh shit! I don't know, Warren. The right answer is to say we leave, right? But then what? How much of the country can we feasibly check before we draw a line?"

  "Draw a line? You mean give her up for dead?"

  Rick shrugged and nodded. I doubted then that he gave a single flying fuck about Carla, and he was just making all the right noises to keep me onside. The whisky had obviously helped his crocodile tears, and I was glad I hadn’t spent any energy in comforting the two-faced halfwit. He was logically right, but it was a bit early to be airing that kind of sentiment. We hadn't even gotten inside the gates yet. I tried to hide my disgust.

  "In due time. Let's see what kind of welcome we get first. Do we actually need a plan for what we both do once we get into this place? Or do we just shake hands and make friends?"

  "Well that's what I'll do. Traditionally, you appear to have a bit of an issue when it comes to the pleasantries."

  I thought about telling him to fuck off, but resisted it. I had wanted to make sure we were on the same page, and now I wasn't entirely sure if Rick was even reading the same book. I had saved this little shit's life, and here he was virtually declaring open warfare.

  "I'm sure I can set up a smile or two for the right people. Come on then, Parker, let's finish this off. I'm hungry. And they might have water. Forgotten what a shower feels like yet?"

  Rick sniffed at his armpit. "Smells like it. Fucking zombies, why do they have to stink so much?"

  * * *

  We did a wide circle around before we drove up the small la
ne to the community entrance. We pulled the car to one side of the road—into a layby halfway up. There were no undead here, but that didn't mean they weren't approaching the walls at points. I expected a place like this would draw the undead to it, simply by the volume of living that were purportedly inside its walls. "Middle of the road again?" I asked Rick.

  "It didn't get us shot last time. Fifty-fifty chance."

  I shook my head, trying to take this seriously. "They won't use gunfire if they don't have to, definitely not on two loners on approach. Too much unnecessary noise, I'm guessing."

  "Well I hope you're guessing right, that's all I have to say."

  We walked side by side up the remainder of the road. The walls were impressive enough. They looked like newly-pointed red brick and were easily above twelve feet in height. They had to be high enough to deter the average plucky burglar and, for the over-zealous, there were fleur de lys spikes every foot or so for good measure. It was simple, but because of the residents potentially behind those walls, they protected every inch of the circumference of this prestigious location. The only weakness was the point of entry, and even that was pretty fucking secure. In my head, I had expected lift barriers like you got at car parks. What we were greeted with as we walked up were closed gates. They weren't simply wooden affairs either. On either side were security booths and in front of the gates I could see, if I squinted, the more simple barriers I had expected in my mind's eye. So, the drawbridge was up and the portcullis was down. No point taking any unnecessary risks. That was a good sign. Then again, so had the lack of lights been a good sign when we headed towards the pier.

  "Is there even anyone watching this?"

  I decided it was a stupid question, so didn't grace it with an answer. I knew it would be answered for me soon enough.

  When a male voice from behind the wall told us to stop where we were, I gave Rick a bland neutral smile.