Cape Zero- the Fall

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  Despite the claims of the doomsayers, the Grove had prospered. Farms had indeed been built, and every harvest brought bounties of potatoes, cabbage and other vegetables. Wells had been dug and aqueducts to branch out from them. If the people of the Grove were not comfortable, at least they were safe. Peter could honestly say that for once in a long time, he was content with life.

  It was quite weird to remember that on this Saturday just a year earlier he would, most probably, have been at home playing a video game. Who could have thought that in barely 365 days, he had become a warrior, hunter, Knight and a killer?

  A gust of wind wafted through his hair, cooling him down. He brought his hand to his face to scratch his chin. He had thought of growing a beard, but was already having regrets.

  ‘How can they live with these things?’ Peter muttered, ‘They’re itchy as hell.’

  Normally he would have replied to himself with a snide remark, but since being surrounded with people, he had begun to cease that habit. Eccentric he may be, but he had had enough of being insane.

  Peter gazed onto Table Mountain. The moonlight turned it into a bright silhouette. Only the lights by Rhodes Memorial and the peak dotted it.

  Besides those two lights, however, Peter spotted a third one. Straining his eyes, it became larger and brighter. He sat up hastily.

  The light was heading towards the Grove!

  Lifting himself up, he gazed at the phenomena. Close to alerting guards, he stopped as he noticed that they did not need to be informed. All noise had ceased from the camp. Everyone was watching.

  The light arched over settlement and then winked out. Peter was just about to let out a sigh as an explosive bang echoed throughout the city. A blinding light shone through the night sky as the flare erupted above their home.

  Lurid and gargantuan, the flare seemed to last for minutes, but was out in seconds. Even then, Peter knew the damage was done. He leapt from the roof just as guards jumped to action and loud hissing and roars erupted from the distance.

  Grove City was just about to face one bloody night.

  Already, Knights and Squires alike were rushing to arm themselves. They didn’t know exactly what was happening, but they knew what noise of that scale would cause. Peter didn’t slow from his run to the arsenal. Many guards were already armed and armoured, but this had been one of his few nights off. Even so, he would need to be ready for what was about to occur.

  Passing him in the opposite direction was Sesikweni and Andrew, the former already armoured himself in Purge Gear, carrying his shotgun. They were heading towards the holdout entrance.

  It took a minute at most for Peter to come tumbling into the armoury, nervous sweat already soaking his shirt. He had seen combat many times before, but never here. The Grove had truly been a haven in the ruins of Cape Town. Until now.

  ‘Swart! Knight Swart!’

  Peter turned around, still tightening the final strap on his Purge gear. The one who had called his name was already clad from head to toe, a green strap around his shoulder indicating that he was a Lieutenant. He wore a paintball mask, but Peter could sense the anxiety and see the sweat misting up his mask. The Knight Lieutenant was panting furiously; he must have been running all over the holdout.

  The panting ceased just as Peter put on his doctor’s mask. Before placing a paintball mask over it, he awaited the Lieutenant’s orders.

  ‘Swart, we’re weak on the west flank. We can’t spare troops from the main entrance. Go with this.’

  He tossed Peter the rifle that he had been holding in one hand. Months ago, Peter would not have known the stock from the barrel, but now he was able to quickly and instinctively examine the firearm. It was a .22 rifle - a very small calibre and not capable of taking down any Sighted. It would have to do.

  ‘Sir, do you know what’s going on?’ Peter asked, turning to retrieve two extra cartridges from the communal ammo bin.

  ‘I don’t have a fucking clue! All I know is that it’s big. Now get the hell out there!’

  Peter obeyed and picked up a pair of wide lens goggles. Normally he would wear a paintball mask, but a rifle required a finer mask.

  Outside the arsenal, the skies were already red with fire and alight with screaming. Peter checked his rifle one final time and then bolted towards the West Flank – the pool area. He passed the parking lot gate and could already see Infected attempting to scale the gate. Squires held them off with spears, stabbing them through the bars. A group of infected would leap at the gate and the Squires would stab through, killing or at least wounding them. The tactic would work for as long as the pool area held. Before Peter crossed out of sight, a Squire’s spear was caught by a Sighted and the poor boy was pulled towards the gate. His friends lunged to help him back, but it was too late. As his body impacted upon the gate with a thud, the opportunistic Blinds grabbed onto his arms and began gnawing at his flesh. The screams sent shivers down Peter’s spine.

  He passed the corner and the screams stopped. He just hoped that it was from the boy being put out of his misery.

  The sound of automatic weaponry could be heard from just outside the holdout walls. This would normally give Peter a little hope, but he knew that no Knight would have been able to leave the East Flank. He knew that for once, the sound of gunfire was not the sound of allies, but that of dark rumour.

  For months, scouts and merchants had been reporting the existence of infected cops and soldiers who still carried weapons and were capable of using them. Few had listened to them, and it seemed that this was going to be their wake up call.

  Mounting the steps, Peter jogged the way up, finally arriving at the pool area. A group of Squires were utilising pikes and spears to shove zombies off of the walls. At the far end of the pool, a zombie had managed to get over the edge and two survivors were attempting to hack at it with cleavers. They weren’t close enough, and Peter didn’t blame them for their fear of getting too close.

  He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and peered down the iron-sights. The zombies head was in clear sight and he fired. The bullet hit, but in the shoulder. The impact distracted the zombie long enough for the two survivors to get in range and sever its head with the blunt cleavers. It was messy work, and Peter was glad that everyone had mask.

  A survivor approached him, head down for fear of the blind fire by the Infected.

  ‘Knight! The Sighted have guns! It’s impossible.’

  ‘You should have paid more heed to merchant gossip. Now get back to the walls!’

  ‘But, Knight, they’ll pepper us.’

  ‘What’s worse? A clean shot to the head or minutes of agony as teeth rend your flesh?’

  Peter knew he was being too harsh, but he never cared what others thought about him. It did the trick and the survivor skulked back to the wall, picking up a spear along the way.

  Gazing around, Peter realized that he needed a vantage point. He mounted a second flight of stairs and arrived on a veranda overlooking the pool area and past the wall. For a second, he could only stand agape. When the Lieutenant had said that this was something big, he was under-exaggerating.

  From the wall to the line of houses at the other end of the street, a sea of zombies flooded the previously peaceful road. More infected were coming in from houses and streets beyond. They would not be able to hold the West Flank. Hell, Peter was not sure they’d be able to hold the Grove. He was never one for despair, however. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder once again. Crouching; he brought back the bolt and returned it. An empty shell fell to the floor. If they survived the night, Squires and survivors would pick the empty shells up and take them to the recycling areas.

  He took aim and fired. He was not sure if the bullet hit or missed, but he was sure that it was the former. No one could miss while firing at an ocean. He brought back the bolt again and turned his sights to the left. Two sighted had made their way over the walls and one Squire was already down. The Sighted had discarded the now bitten Squire and had begun its
advance on the frozen survivor. Peter fired, killing the Sighted. The Survivor was still frozen, just as the Squire started to rise. Peter didn’t waste any time and shot the now Infected Squire in the head.

  Peter lost track of time after that. The wall never fell, but it came close to it at every moment. Only the survivors and Squires, now only half their number remaining, stood against the seemingly infinite horde.

  He was down to only three shots. He had ceased his pot-shots since he realised that they made no difference. He now reserved his last shots for the Sighted which made it past the wall.

  A Sighted had made it over the wall and was tearing through survivors. Peter fired and ended its rampage. Just then, reinforcements arrived, if you could call them that. A Knight and two survivors entered the fray. The survivors were armed with fire axes and chopped through the fresh wave of Blinds and Sighted who had scaled the wall. The Knight didn’t fire his rifle and instead approached Peter.

  ‘The Parking Gate has fallen!’ he shouted over the screams and gunfire.

  Peter didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. He knew what it meant. If the gate fell, the Pool area fell, and if they both fell, then everyone would need to be heading towards the Keep.

  ‘I have two pipe-bombs with me; I’ll use them to slow down the advance. Get these people back to the Keep!’

  Peter nodded and stood up. He almost wobbled as he put strain on his stiff legs. He could not afford the delay, and even if unstable, proceeded to descend the stairs. Just as he reached the wall, he saw the cylindrical object disappear past the wall. Covering his ears, he could still hear the explosion as he gazed at the blood and limbs flying across the street just to disappear once again into the horde.

  ‘Retreat! Retreat! Back to the Keep!’ Peter shouted at the top of his lungs, even risking pulling his mask off to send the message.

  Those who heard him dropped their pikes and ran. Those who did not, saw the commotion and followed suit. He replaced his mask to its former position and ran. Another pipe-bomb exploded and the Knight soon followed the group as they sprinted towards the Keep.

  The Parking Lot had indeed fallen and the fires which had been started to stop the horde were doing little to stop Blinds from flooding into the yard. As he ran, Peter placed the strap of the rifle across his chest, resting it on his back. He drew his pistol.

  They advanced towards the field. The Squires and Survivors from the wall were under strain. They had been holding the wall for hours. Peter couldn’t recall when this all started.

  Just as they reached the side of the sports field, which had been transformed into farmland and housing, they halted. Before them was a scene of horror. Where fires didn’t engulf shacks - limbs and corpses lay across the ground. Children, the elderly and all manner of Knights, Squires and survivors lay dead, their bodies too mutilated to survive infection. Even so, some still crawled across the ground, missing legs and arms. They soon died of blood loss, but the scene was almost too much to bear. More than one pulled off their mask and vomited. Even Peter felt the urge to empty himself.

  The delay was costly, as Peter soon spotted groups of zombies converging on both sides. He aimed his pistol and fired. The bang warned the survivors but one was still caught by his leg. He was pulled down as two Blinds gnawed on his leg and neck.

  Peter fired at a Sighted wielding a club, the shot missed and he didn’t attempt another one as they ran towards the entrance to the main building. A Squire pulled at the door handle furiously. It didn’t budge. Peter could hear the terrified panting. The Squire was close to hyperventilating from fright.

  ‘It’s no use, they’ve locked this door. Our only hope is the courtyard,’ the Knight said calmly, while firing at the approaching Infected.

  ‘The courtyard will be flooded! We can’t handle that many zombies.

  We’ll die trying!’ Peter shouted back.

  ‘Do you have any better ideas?!’

  Peter did not, but he did have an idea. Grabbing an axe from one of the frozen Squires, he lifted it up and brought it hard towards the door. The impact shattered through the wood, breaking the lock. He handed the axe back to the now recovered Squire.

  ‘Fuck! You know what you’ve done?’

  ‘There was no other way! Get in!’

  The Squires and survivors poured in, but not without two of them being caught. They had to be left behind. The Knight followed, firing as he backed up. Just as the last survivor was in, they shut the now shattered door. Blinds bashed against the door, as survivors tried to hold it back. Zombies rammed their fists through the glass, cutting their arms and turning them to shreds. They were too far gone in the Infection to care.

  ‘Get something to bar the door! Anything!’

  The Squire who had been frozen before bolted around the corner, soon returning with two planks and a jar of nails. As Peter and the Knight fired at any zombie which made any headway into battering down the door, the Survivors and Squires worked to bar the door. They used the flat of the axe as a hammer and eventually, the door was ‘locked’.

  Letting out a relieved sigh, the Knight indicated for them to retreat. Before doing so, they locked the trellis door separating the hallways from the entrance area. The Blinds continued to hammer at the door. Luckily, they were confined to only three standing abreast at a time.

  This was when they heard the screams again and heard gunfire in earnest. Turning towards the stairway, they saw stains of blood, still fresh. Those stairs led to the Keep.

  They could not risk delay, and as Knights of the Grove, they could not leave their people behind. Peter checked his pistol; the Knight did the same for his rifle. The Survivors picked up whatever they could use as a weapon.

  As ready as they could be, they mounted the steps and didn’t turn back, as much as some of them would have wished.

  It was a bloodbath. The rooms which had been home and haven to Survivors for months were now their graves. No one could find the time to confirm if their deaths were genuine, but it would not have made much difference. The ground floor had fallen, and its inhabitants with it. The second floor was close to falling and all they could do was slowly trudge towards the rooftop – the Keep.

  Peter had run out of ammunition long ago. He now used an elongated machete and did just as well with it. With intense ferocity, he slew all Blinds which came his way.

  The Knight from earlier had fallen. Peter did not have to mercy-slay him. The zombies were hungry and literally tore him apart.

  Other groups had joined with them and many had fallen. Peter didn’t pay attention to whom he fought with, for all he knew, none of the survivors or Squires from the West Flank still drew breath.

  What he did notice were the people he was killing. These were not strangers that had been Infected. Many of the Blinds, and even some of the Sighted, were survivors, Squires and Knights of the Grove. He killed them like the rest. Disembodied heads marked his path, and blood stained the walls.

  Turning a corner, a Blind lunged at him. He brought the machete down on it, and with a snap, the blade broke. He did not delay and reached for his knife, which he hastily stuck through the zombie’s neck, ending its miserable life. Blood poured from the neck wound and Peter was thankful for his gloves. He had also replaced his doctor’s mask and his goggles for a paintball mask.

  Survivors were at his back; he didn’t pay them any mind. It seemed that they had flocked to him as their protector. He didn’t care. He did remember one person he was meant to protect, however. Someone he had made a promise to protect. He had examined every dead child he could, and none of them was Luke. He owed it to David to try to save his son’s life.

  Passing a classroom, he heard crying and snarling. He turned inside. Three Blinds were advancing on a woman with three children. She clutched the youngest in her arms while the two others stood behind her. Peter knew the face of the one boy immediately. He charged into the room, shouting to draw the zombies away. The Blinds did indeed turn, just before the one had its
neck severed and the other kicked into the wall. The one still standing leapt at him and he dodged to the side, tripping it and lifting it by the back of its shirt. He drove his knife into its neck and left it there. The fallen zombie was bringing itself up. He picked up one of the small chairs of the classroom and advanced. The zombie looked at him with sightless eyes and growled. Before it could do anything else, Peter brought the metal and wooden chair down on its head. It dropped, and Peter brought the chair down on its head again – and again, and again. The wooden backing of the chair had since broken and only the metal remained. The zombies face was a bloody pulp, but it still snarled. Peter brought the chair above his head and with all the force he could muster, rammed the chair leg through the zombie’s mutilated face. It was dead.

  Panting with exertion, Peter leaned against one of the desks. This time, he did vomit. His insides spilled all over the floor and he didn’t care that the woman was watching. The now mutilated remains of the zombie still lay near him. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. For he had known the second that he saw him that the zombie that he had just crushed over and over again was Sesikweni.

  He brought his mask back to his face, wiping away bile before he did so. Turning to the woman and boys, he could have wept at what he saw. The woman and two of the children were as healthy as one could look in this situation but the blonde boy was pale. That was not what concerned Peter. Staining the boy’s bare leg was blood, surrounding a dark red mass of chewed flesh.

  Peter turned to the woman questioningly. ‘Is he bitten?’

  She nodded, tears pouring down her face. Peter almost cried too, but he had done too much this night to be able to. Reaching for his pistol, he pulled out the two bullets that he had left in reserve. He loaded them into a cartridge and placed it in the pistol. He brought back the loading mechanism and walked towards the boy. He was crying as he clutched his wounded leg.