Mindless Trilogy (Book 3): Brutal Truths

by Oldham, S. P.

  Bruised

  Lavender gave a sigh of exasperation, turning onto her right side and tucking an arm under her head for support. She was careful not to rest her cheekbone on it too heavily, the black eye she was currently sporting raw and tender still. Beside her, Carson snored heartily. A surge of resentment coursed through her. She fought if off, once more closing her eyes in a bid to find sleep for herself.

  Mere seconds later her eyes flicked open once more. She gave up, shoving off the tattered blanket they huddled beneath. She sat for a moment, head in hands, knowing she would regret not making the most of this opportunity for rest. There was nothing for it; she was wide awake.

  She stood, stretching cautiously, her battered muscles protesting. As was her custom, she took a moment to listen at the door, straining for any sounds outside the container. Beyond the creaks and groans of the yard it seemed there was nothing untoward. Although she was not able to lock the container without trapping them inside, there was a sturdy padlock on the tall metal gates linking the fence around the yard. It was the sight of that padlock, heavy and strong looking, that persuaded her to use the last vestiges of her strength and climb over. It had taken endless patience and persuasion to get Carson to follow her. Once safely over, she had recced the yard briefly and found it empty. With night approaching, bringing exhaustion with it, that had been good enough.

  After that, she had thought herself so tired that she would sleep like the dead herself. Carson had lain down and, like a child, drifted off almost immediately. Yet here she was, wide awake and restless, the nearness of Carson and his deep sleep all at once stifling. She needed to breathe.

  Cautiously, Lavender eased the container door open a fraction wider. A rush of cool, salty air greeted her. She cast a look back at him, still fast asleep beneath the scrappy blanket. Shivering, she stepped down, a mixture of sand and gravel crunching beneath her feet.

  The yard was full of bulky containers much like the one they now occupied. There was a monstrous crane towering over it all like some rusty dinosaur. For the most part the containers stood in the neat columns they had been stacked in, though some had toppled to the ground, knocking others loose or out of kilter as they fell. In the gloom they looked like twisted monoliths; some strange version of Stonehenge or the result of a giant game of dominoes gone wrong.

  Most of the containers were sealed shut, destined to keep their secrets forever. Lavender wondered what some of them might hold, then decided she didn’t want to know. A place like this must have been overrun with survivors when the apocalypse struck, meaning there would have been plenty of zombies around too. She wondered how many of those huge metal blocks held the remains of some poor souls who had fallen prey to the undead; or worse, had been locked in with one of them. The thought made her shiver harder still.

  Other containers were wide open, their contents on show for all to see. There had been no time to look around properly yet apart from her initial scouting, but she was not sure in any case that she wanted to. In guiding Carson to the nearest likely looking container, she was sure she had seen a body or two, perhaps some skeletal remains, in passing. It was a sight she was well used to now, but still not one she relished. She had hurried past, more intent on finding shelter and safety for the night.

  Now, alone, she had more time to take things in. At the furthest point of the yard, beyond a solid line of containers stacked two wide and four high, was the sea. She could hear the constant hum of the ocean from here, a backdrop to all other sounds.

  She relaxed a little, becoming more confident that they were truly alone. She took a few steps forward, rounding a stack of containers, expecting to come up against a huge, immovable wall of them at the yard’s furthest edge.

  She found herself faced with blackness, but not the hard, solid kind. This darkness had movement within it. Intrigued, she approached it as quietly as she was able. Realisation dawned as she approached; there was a break in the line of containers. Standing between them, she was looking directly out onto the dark sea: black as night with no lights to illuminate it other than a bare sliver of moon above. No sign now of the long, low transports that once carried the heavy containers out to sea. Nothing out there but the slap of waves and an increasingly chilly breeze.

  Straining her eyes, she could just about make out the jagged, irregular shape of the opposing shore. Once upon a time, that shoreline would have been dotted with lights, she mused. Out on those rolling black waves, boats would have sailed like bright points in a night sky. Now there was nothing but darkness and shadows.

  Tears pricked at Lavender’s eyes. Wiping them away with the back of her hand, wincing at the pain of her own touch, she told herself it was because she was so tired. If she could just get some sleep, she would be fine.

  She turned, suddenly understanding that the spot she was standing in was not the best place to be. If she was caught unawares between the two stacks of containers, the sea at her back, escape was unlikely. She would have no choice but to fight. She was alone and unarmed.

  Feeling at once vulnerable, Lavender headed quickly back to the container. It was just as she left it; the door ajar, Carson snoring softly. She eased it to behind her, making sure not to shut it tight. She lay alongside him, not bothering to wrestle for her share of the blanket. Her mind was racing. She pondered idly on the possibility of finding a boat. Just something small, that she could manage. She indulged the fantasy for mere seconds before reality struck; she had no idea how to pilot a boat, no idea how to plot a course and even if she did, how would she keep Carson calm and settled once at sea? If he had an episode out on the water, it was likely either she, Carson, or both of them would end up overboard. She cursed herself silently for her stupidity. If there were any boats left to be had, they were safe from her touch.

  Her thoughts moved on. She had been remiss to leave herself without a weapon. First thing in the morning she would put that right.

  Morning felt a long way off.

  *

  It was the screaming that woke her.

  She sat bolt upright, instantly awake, immediately aware that Carson was nowhere to be seen. The container was fully open, a rectangle of bright white light telling her the hour was late. She jumped up, dizzy with the motion and fear of what might have happened. The screaming came again.

  She raced to the door, staggering, leaning on its frame for support. The day was bright but cold, increasing her concern.

  There came another scream; harsh, strident and far up in the sky. Overhead, herring gulls wheeled noisily, eyeing the goings on of the world below, oblivious to her. Lavender swore shakily, pulling herself together. Not screaming then; but where was Carson?

  She stepped outside, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. She preferred not to call his name for fear of who – or what – else she might attract. She looked around, frantic at first, until she remembered the yard was fenced and padlocked. He couldn’t go far.

  The sea. She knew now that there was at least one gap between the containers, very likely more. He could simply walk between them and fall in.

  Panic gripped her. She ran, turning this way and that for any sign of him. She was so flustered that she almost missed him.

  She was right to be concerned that he might find the gap between the containers and the way it led to the sea. But he had not simply walked into it as she had feared. She saw now, in daylight, that there was a length of wide concrete not unlike a landing strip beyond the container wall. It made sense, now she thought of it; there had to be a place to load and unload cargo. Carson had crossed the strip and was sitting at its far edge. Lavender ran to him, wary of the mood she mig
ht find him in.

  He looked up at her approach, grinning. He had taken off his tattered shoes and socks and placed them in an incongruously neat pile at his side. His trousers were folded up to his knees, his feet were dangling in the water, the waves strong enough at times to cover his lower legs completely, touching the rolled fabric. He didn’t seem to mind.

  “Look,” he said, childlike, “it’s the seaside.”

  Lavender didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It felt an age since she had last seen his features creased in a smile, such a carefree look on his face: it tugged at her heartstrings. Within that expression was a trace of the Carson she had once known.

  “Come on!” he said, reaching up to grab her gently but insistently by the hand, “Come and paddle!” He tugged at her, pulling her inadvertently forward.

  Lavender laughed despite herself, “Isn’t it very cold?”

  “Freezing,” Carson agreed, smiling, “You’ll love it!”

  Lavender laughed again. She had to admit that, after months of making do with the odd wash down when she could get it, the water looked inviting. She decided that these days, some moments you just don’t let pass you by. Against her better judgement, she sat next to him, discarded her boots and dangled her feet in the water, her breath escaping in a gasp at the bone-deep coldness of it.

  “Well it’s certainly refreshing,” Lavender said, when she could speak again, “But I can’t do this for long Carson, it hurts,” she said, already beginning to draw her feet out of the water, the shock of cold quickly becoming something more intense. She looked at him more closely, wondering how long he had been there, feet dangling into the frigid water. Wondering how he was not in agony with it. Perhaps he had simply become numb.

  “No, stay a while,” Carson said, gripping her wrist more firmly. Lavender hesitated. She knew from recent experience that she needed to be careful what she said next. The water was beginning to really hurt now, making her wonder how long she would last if she fell into it fully. She pushed the thought aside, looking about her for something to distract Carson with. If she could refocus his attention elsewhere, she might be able to get out of this and get him to come away from the water with her.

  The landscape was pretty bleak, all things considered. Very little to exclaim at or declare a sudden, delighted interest in, enough to make Carson let her go and look around. She was beginning to despair, her feet cramping with agony, when someone behind her said,

  “I hope you brought your own towels, because we don’t have any,”

  Others

  Carson let go of her wrist in surprise, the better to turn around and see who had spoken. Lavender did the same.

  A man stood a few yards behind them. He looked friendly enough, a broad smile on his bearded face, his eyes creasing warmly as if he meant it. The only thing that bothered Lavender was the crowbar he had cradled against his chest, one end a solid square, split down the middle like a cloven foot, the other ending in a broad yet vicious looking spike. He looked more than capable of using it.

  Lavender smiled back; a forced expression given the pain her feet were now in. She pulled them from the water before Carson got it into his head that she should paddle some more. When she set them down on the concrete, pins and needles hit hard, sending jangling waves of pain shooting up her shins. She gritted her teeth, aware she was probably not making a great first impression here. Carson kept his feet submerged, watching the man with interest.

  Lavender exerted a small amount of pressure on one foot, checking to see if it was wise to try and stand. It felt both huge and numb, as if she suddenly sported the foot of a new-born baby elephant in place of her own. She gave up the notion for the moment, massaging her feet madly as she tried to focus on the man.

  “Hi,” she said, aware it was a lame greeting.

  “Feet hurting huh? I’m not surprised, the North Sea is not for swimming in unless you happen to be a fish, and you don’t look like you have gills to me. Nothing for it but to ride the pain out,” he offered, giving Lavender permission to give in to her agony. He ran his eye over Carson, “though it doesn’t seem to be bothering your friend there,”

  ‘What the hell is wrong with him?’ Lavender wondered through her pain, ‘Surely he must feel that?’

  “Carson,” Lavender said in what she hoped was a firm voice, “you need to put your socks and shoes back on now,”

  “Why?” Carson demanded, his attitude surly.

  “Because it is getting too cold, that’s why,” Lavender snapped, “Just get dressed, quickly!” She risked standing, afraid her feet would give way under her. They still felt too huge to wrestle her socks and boots back on, so she began walking around on the concrete in a bid to bring her feet back to life. Finally, warmth crept back into them. Once the tingling pain of her nerve endings had passed, she was able to put her socks and boots back on.

  Carson had not argued, to her relief. He had hauled his feet out of the water, twisting his body stiffly around and planting both feet together on the ground. Lavender stared in horror, marvelling that Carson seemed unperturbed.

  His feet were a mottled blue, white at the edges. The skin of his soles and toes had wrinkled and shrunk, leaving tough looking ridges, as if it had rippled and then frozen into place. Lavender tried to think fast, knowing when the numbness wore off, for he just had to be numb, the pain would be excruciating.

  There was nothing that would help. She thought about grabbing Carson’s discarded socks and using them to towel his feet quickly, to encourage life back into them. But Carson’s demeanour was growing darker by the minute. This close to the frigid water, she had no desire to tussle with him or worse, to fall into his grip again. All she could do was watch and, as the stranger had advised, let him ride it out.

  It was not a pretty sight. As she had predicted, pain began to set in when the deep numbness wore off. Lavender took a step further back, out of reach, as Carson let loose a barrage of colourful expletives. He flailed and lashed out like a child in the grip of a major tantrum. Embarrassed, Lavender flashed a look at the newcomer. He was watching with interest, his stance unchanged, unspeaking. Lavender felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl. The sooner Carson was over this, dressed and ready to move on again, the better.

  The sun dipped behind a cloud, making her skin goose bump. From nowhere, a flurry of tiny hailstones, small and spiteful, spattered against them, pockmarking the water where they landed. Lavender’s exposed arms and face were stinging and raw, but at least it seemed to have hurried Carson up. He was pulling his socks on any old how, seeming not to care that they did not fit correctly. He pulled his battered old shoes on top, then turned onto all fours and, to her horror, began to crawl towards them.

  The man behind her gave a guffaw of laughter. He looked at her apologetically, “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding anything but, “you have to admit that’s pretty funny. How long was he paddling in the water for anyway?”

  Lavender bit back a scathing retort, “I don’t know,” she shrugged, “a while I think,”

  The hailstorm seemed to have passed, though it had become a good deal cooler, the sun still well hidden behind a rapidly greying bank of clouds.

  “Well, however he can make it, I think we should go. I reckon there’s plenty more where that came from,” the man nodded at the sky before turning on his heel and striding off, as if he fully expected them to follow.

  “Come on Carson, get up,” Lavender reached down, offering him her hand. He took it, standing shakily. Lavender judged that if the man was going to attack them he would have done so by now. She would follow him, see if there was any news from anywhere or if he had anything she could make use of.

  “On our way,” she mumbled to his retreating back, guiding a shivering, pale-faced Carson along with her. If the man led them to shelter, then she would stay only until the storm passed. Then she and Carson were moving on.

  *

  They strode back into the
container yard. He took a right turn, heading towards a spot at the very end of a row where some of the containers had tumbled and fallen. One was leaning at a sharp angle, firmly wedge into the space between rows. Expecting the man to duck under it, Lavender was surprised when he climbed up onto the end of it by means of an arrangement of stacked boxes laid out as makeshift steps. Once he was on top of the stricken container, he reached down. Lavender watched as he grasped a rope that had evidently been secured the length of the now angled roof. Using it, he pulled himself up the slope, the way a mountain climber might scale a steep cliff. Reaching the top and the end of the rope, he stepped nimbly off the fallen container, through the single open door of a neighbouring one that had not slipped and fallen. He disappeared from view.

  Lavender frowned. If Carson was still feeling uncooperative it was going to be difficult to get him up there. The steps were no problem; he had begun climbing them ahead of her. She worried that he would have difficulty with the rope. Not physically, he was still a muscular man; no, she worried that such a strange means of entry to even stranger surroundings might confuse or frighten him. She followed him hurriedly, leaning to help him with the rope. He shoved her away unceremoniously.

  “I can do it myself!” he snapped, like a petulant child. Lavender watched him go, counting to ten just as she would have had he really been a child, testing her patience. When he reached the topmost point of the container he too dropped the rope, to step unhesitatingly into the wide-open door before him. Committed now, she followed his lead. At the top, she saw there was a ledge about a foot wide. She stepped across to it, following Carson through the same doorway.

  The first thing that hit her was the smell; a human cocktail of sweat and blood, mingled with an underlying odour she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The next thing, when her eyes had adjusted to the gloom that the daylight from the open door did not penetrate, was the number of people in there.

  Kids, for the most part. Well, teens anyway. Three youths were on their feet, presumably surprised at their arrival. Behind them, a girl of roughly the same age was just getting to her feet.