Great Bitten (Book 2): Survival

by Warren Fielding

  "Sour in camp? Seriously? There weren't that many of us. How many live in the community? A thousand now?"

  People had started arriving again. Not as many as in the early days, but the radio was still bringing people in. "People might be coming in, but you were the first ones to go outside the fence for us. Longer term, we're relying on the runs to bring in provisions for us. You guys were going to be the heroes."

  I grinned. "Do I look like a hero to you?"

  "Least likely hero in the world. Have you spoken to any of the other guys yet?"

  I thought of the others. I thought of Charles. Of Toby and Tom, missing in action. Abandoned. I thought of Connor's twisted body and Ben grieving over him. Of Harry, Jake, and Tyler. "No, I haven't. We haven't been allowed."

  "Exactly. Everyone's grieving. No one expected to lose so many people so soon. Gordon had picked you all because he thought you were the best. The best of us and almost half of you died within a week."

  "You really don't need to remind me."

  "I... I know. I'm sorry. Don't you think it's strange though, how you've all been separated?"

  "Strange and twice. I've been keeping myself busy speaking to everyone else. They're not stopping me from talking to anyone in the community, apart from the ones who went on the run. Have you seen any of them?"

  Karen shook her head. "I think you're just being allowed to rest."

  "Why would rest make a difference? We're not in a protection program here. We're all here to do a job, and all of a sudden I've been made redundant."

  "And you're not happy about it?"

  "Why would I be happy about it? I like being busy. I like having something to do. Helping. I'm one of the few people in this whole damned place not fucking helping." I spat the last few words, and sat back, trying to keep my anger down. Karen was just asking questions. None of the people I had spoken to so far, no one I had asked questions, had reacted to me like the way I was treating her now. I looked up at her careful eyes. She hadn't moved. She watched me closely, as if I were a wounded animal. I suppose in many ways I was. She was evidently trying to pick her own role; was she there to guard me, trap me, or kill me? Or even save me? "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm just confused by everything that's going on here. But I've spoken to Rich and he's going to speak to Gordon. Hopefully, things will start to level themselves out. Maybe the deaths caught everyone off guard. We're the human ones, aren't we?"

  "I don't know so much anymore."

  There was an awkward silence between the two of us. We both had our demons, and they were standing off against each other. I broke first. "I don't know what to think anymore."

  I hunched forward, head sunk between my shoulders and arms loose off the top of my legs. I searched for the words I'd been trying to find for the empty weeks since the outbreak had begun. There was some barrier preventing me from confiding in Carla, and I had always known that there were fundamental issues with Rick. I was glad now that, despite everything we had been through together, I had always trusted in my instincts with him. And now my instincts were telling me to trust Karen. She was being patient with me, and she was honest in a very angry way. I could understand that. I waited for the words to come. She waited with me. It didn't take long for the dam to burst. We all need a listener.

  "I feel like I've been going around in circles since this whole thing started. I'm not sure where the beginning was, and I don't feel like there's going to be an ending either. I have this vague recollection of being apathetic towards my job, to most of humanity. It's all a blur. As if it meant nothing. Sure, there are snapshot memories. Birthdays. Accidents. Times I acted like a twat. But there is nothing. Then there is the last, what, three weeks? Four? I'm not even sure how long it's been since the outbreak started."

  "Forty-seven days." she added quietly.

  I smiled at her. I like people that remember the little details. The little things keep you anchored when the rest of the world is being spun by the storm.

  "I used to be so meticulous. If you wanted to label it you could probably call it OCD. Was that because there was nothing else for me to do? Or at least nothing else to keep me interested? Because now I can't tell you with any accuracy what day of the week it is, but I can tell you with very definite and intricate detail every single fucking thing that has occurred since I saw that woman on Brick Lane. It's almost as if I've drawn a line in my mind on what is and what used to be, and I've set fire to it. It's a flaming chasm and I don't want to jump back over it. But why?"

  "I'm not a psychologist, Warren. I don't know beyond the glamour stories what you've done to get here. I'll be honest with you, if I'd have heard just you saying it, I would have said you were full of shit. You've experienced more than most of us."

  I picked up on 'most'. She was starting to bring the best out of me again.

  "It sounds like before, you were just going through the motions of life. You must have loved being a journalist, but you don't mention friends and Carla is obviously your only family. I don't want to know the ins and outs. If I had to guess though, I'd say you've felt more alive since the UK started dying than at any other point in your life."

  Wow. She was very good. Any brief self-analysis with sufficient time alone and alcohol—or perhaps twenty minutes under a gloriously hot steaming shower (oh God a shower would have been amazing)—would have led me to the same conclusions. What stood out was she had actually taken the time to see it. I lifted myself, buoyed. Karen had an expectant grin on her face. She knew she'd done well, and I gave her a nod to acknowledge that. She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair, waiting for the comeback.

  "So, you're going to ask me now about my story and..."

  "...and because you've already heard stories about me, you might actually tell me?"

  "I think I need to tell someone. If I don't, I don't know what is going to happen to me. I'm a very angry woman, Warren. The things I think, the things I fantasise about, they, quite frankly, scare me. It was easy for me to tell you how you're feeling though, because I feel exactly the same way.

  "I spent my life in a dead end job. I went out sure; I had some drinking buddies. I don't know how many lasting relationships women think they can make over several bottles of wine, but by my own count it's one. I have a family that I'd rather forget about, and a list of phone contacts that are easily forgotten."

  "What about the guys you were with when you left the office?"

  Karen looked sad. "Memorable for all the wrong reasons, I'm afraid. Like I said there was a group of us. It was hard. You can appreciate what it would have been like in London."

  I could. Like everyone was hearing, I'm sure, I was one of the lucky ones getting out as early as I did. The only other lucky people would have been those on holidays abroad and anyone getting out of the country on early flights—the crasher out of Gatwick aside.

  "We thought we were doing so well at first. We were aware of what was happening. So many others were still oblivious. There were still rioters trying to steal shit from shops, kids walking around with headphones on and music going full blast, fuck, there were still even people heading to work. We ignored them. No one tried to stop us. No one asked us for help. There was blood everywhere, eventually. It was complete and utter carnage.

  "The worst thing I saw was a headphones kid. He was virtually shuffling along the pavement, hands in his pockets, head down, big street earphones covering his head. There was no way he could hear anything. He was heading out of town maybe. I don't know where he was going or what he was thinking. Maybe he thought it was just another riot and he could breeze through it. I saw dozens of people killed by the fast ones. I can't believe some of the people here never even knew they existed, but yeah, literally dozens upon dozens. That kid stands out so much because it wasn't one of the quicker ones that got him. He tripped over. Of all of the things that could have happened, he tripped. Could have been the pavement. Could have been his fucking ridiculous baggy jeans. Imagine dying for fashion?
As in literally? Would that be worse than dying because you thought you had to go into the office? Because I personally know a few of those. When he tripped, I saw something crawling over to him. I couldn't be sure at first, but it looked like an… urchin had crawled out of the gutter. I thought it was trying to help him. It crawled on his back as he tried to get up. It can't have been very heavy, but it managed to push him back down. I saw the face then. It looked up straight into my eyes, and the amount of hate I saw there pinned me to the spot. I guess I wasn't of as much interest at that point. There was some red-hot meat right underneath her already. That's it. I recognised there, at that point, that it was a little girl. She was naked. I couldn't tell at first because her body was covered in blood. Her hair was heavy against her head and body, stringy, matted. She grinned then, or maybe hissed. She was about ten, maybe twelve feet away. Her teeth were already covered in blood. If I had squinted or looked away, I could have filled in the rest from my imagination. She could have whispered in his ear. She was lost and scared, she had found her brother. Petrified, she had jumped on him, seeking safety and reassurances, his familiar face and touch. If I had looked away, I wouldn't have seen any of this. But I didn't look away, Warren. I just couldn't. I think the boy was maybe in shock. He didn't struggle much. Maybe she knocked the wind out of him. All I know is he didn't get back up again. Not as a human being, anyway. That whispering? She started with his ear. Clamped down on it with her teeth and pulled. It came off. Not straight away. She had to cover the whole thing with her mouth. When she tore it away she chewed a little and spat it out, like it was a piece of rind. I suppose if I was a carnivore and had the whole cow available, I wouldn't want the ears or the asshole either. She bent down to him again and this time she went for the neck. The stuff absolutely gouted out of him. He started thrashing a little then, the boy, but he was losing blood so fast that his strength must have been absolutely sapped. She pulled at the sinew from his neck and it was like she lingered over it, savouring a meal. She dipped her hand into his neck and pulled more away, her hands were sticky red and, as the muscles just pulled away from his bone, I just..."

  She stopped. I was glad. I'd been getting nauseous. She painted macabre pictures. Maybe I could recruit her to ghost write my stoic, plain journalistic musings. She looked up at me. Two singlets of tears ribboned each red cheek. I felt like moving to her, putting an arm around her and telling her it would all be alright. The first two things, I did do. Her body was warm and she leaned into me, grateful I think to have someone close to her. I didn't tell her that it would be alright, because it was bloody obvious that things weren't alright. And no matter what the people, the government, God or the community did to the situation, things would never be alright again. We sat there in silence. As I was drifting to sleep, I heard a little voice add in the darkness, "And that wasn't even the worst of it."

  * * *

  We woke up in the chair together. My back was stiff, but it felt surprisingly good to wake up with someone in my arms. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened. I don't think it had ever happened in a chair, not without a bottle of vodka lubricating the night before. I looked down. Karen's head looked incredibly awkward hooked into my chest. She must have been comfortable though. A little wheeze escaped her lips. I smiled. It was the kind of sound you find endearing at the start of a relationship, but infuriating when the boredom seeps in and you start seeing the claws in the kittens. That had been my experience of life thus far. Relationships weren't going to last long enough anymore to experience emotional atrophy. Carla and Rick were evidence enough of that. Rich and his wife were a far better example.

  I elected not to move. I couldn't feel my left arm, but I knew as soon as the blood returned to it I would be in a jingo world of white noise pain from shoulder to fingertip. I smacked my lips. My mouth was heavy and mottled, the feeling of cotton wool after you've spent a heavy night of drinking without hydrating properly. There it was again, the booze missing. Had I been an alcoholic in my life before this happened without acknowledging it? The chairs around us were all empty. Sunlight was pouring in through the windows. Karen's storytelling had taken much of our evening. I hoped we hadn't slept in too late. Carla was perched in the doorway. Maybe she had done something to catch my attention. She looked worried. I remembered Isabelle, and that Carla had gone looking for her the night before. I raised my eyebrows at her, letting her know that I was awake. She shuffled over to me and sat down carefully on a seat. She was doing her best not to look at Karen, and whilst her eyes were full of sadness, she couldn't hide at least a small grin.

  "You okay?" I whispered the husky voice of the dehydrated.

  "I wish I was. Still no sign of Isabelle. It's not like her."

  "She might just be hiding out somewhere. The community is a big place."

  "Maybe. But that's not like her. I don't like this, Warren. It feels weird."

  "I hate to say it, but there's no way of her getting over the wall is there?"

  Carla shook her head. "No way. The walls are too high. The only places that you can get over the wall are all used for guard posts. She's too small to go climbing."

  "But she's small enough to go a lot of places unnoticed, don't you think?"

  "That's not a nice thought either, Warren."

  "You're not here to get a hug."

  "No, you appear to be fully booked in that department."

  I twisted my head at her. The movement jostled Karen, who jerked upright with a start. She blinked sleep out of her eyes and smiled at me blearily. Then she caught Carla's eye and blushed full red before jumping to her feet.

  "I'm sorry. God I shouldn't have fallen asleep there. I'm sorry, Warren."

  I waved a hand, muttering that it hadn't been a problem. And it hadn't, but my arm almost immediately set on fire. Karen rushed out of the room then. She looked panicked, even a little pale. I didn't follow her. She wasn't fleeing me, but she was escaping an embarrassing situation. I couldn't blame that, and chasing her down would only make her more flustered. I didn't want her to escape though before I could find out what that worse thing was. Her story had made me want to vomit. What could possibly be worse than that? Right now, I had to replace one intriguing female to see to the fears of another. If Carla was worried about Isabelle then so was I, and if Travis and Rich didn't have the time or inclination to put me on any other duties, I would spend my time looking for her. I was hoping I'd find her playing hide and seek in a garden shed, and maybe get some interesting stories along the way. So what if Rick thought I was kicking the hornet's nest. He wouldn't be giving me the time of day if he was too busy licking Gordon's arse.

  I told Carla that I was heading out for Isabelle, and that she should get some rest. She slumped, relieved that someone else would take over the burden of searching. I left the living room and searched briefly around the house for Karen, but she must have left to head over to her own place. My stomach growled and I tried to think about the last time I'd eaten. The community was starting to become as monotonous as the pier with no activity to punctuate my days. I thought that the outings would be my saviour, but that had evidently not turned out to be the case. Would Rich take me on his next set?

  * * *

  The sunlight as I left the house pierced at my eyes. The days were getting steadily warmer; when the summer arrived, I wanted to be ready for the full week of light we might actually experience. I patted around for sunglasses. They were long gone. I bet there would be some easy snags if I were ever allowed out of the community again.

  There were a number of new faces out on the streets. Everyone had a ready smile for me. It was pleasing to see so many survivors, and such a mixture of people. A few of them recognised me, and one even asked how I was coping after the accident. I replied blandly that I was fine, asked about Isabelle's whereabouts, and moved on. With the last, I cursed myself. I needed to make friends here, increase my awareness of who was who and what was where. Anyone friendly enough to ask how I was coping w
as an ally, and I hadn't taken the time to remember the man's name. I was far too wrapped up in Isabelle’s loss, though. The young girl had been relying on me, and this community was meant to be a safe place. I had already lost her. I was determined to find her. I would be able to find out more about people, I reasoned, by their reactions to losing and wanting to find Isabelle, than by asking mundane questions about their lives before. How we reacted now were the people we had become. More and more, I was realising that the people we had been before, were almost alien now. These days, I didn’t hesitate so much. There was a grim determination to survive laced behind the words of everyone around me. We all had stories, and we all had fight. The people I needed to ally with, were the ones that still cared about whether or not a young girl had gone missing.

  I started feeling like I was getting somewhere—my endless monologues were starting to turn in my favour, in this post-society landscape—when I was brought out of my reverie by a chilling shriek.

  I sprinted to the front gates. The screams of pain couldn't be coming from anywhere else. The undead couldn't get over any other part of the wall. I rounded the corner and sprinted down the hill. There were others running to point too, and I could see the mass of Rich coming from a road on the right. Almost a dozen of us closed on the location at the same time. The gates were open, which was wrong in and of itself. There were two cars on the dead side of the community. There was a mass of people and too much movement for me to be able to count bodies. Conflict and I was weaponless. I felt bare, but I couldn't just stand by and wait for them to be killed.

  I didn't stop sprinting until I was on the first set of bodies. Two fast biters were on top of a man who was no longer screaming. I could tell they were the fast ones by the speed they were tearing out the obese man's intestines. Slabs of yellowing fat lay over hairy and wrinkled skin. Even the infected avoided the unwanted cuts of meat.