The others stared at the young woman in surprise and a little awe, as she held the long, slim, curved knife in one hand, little finger hooked through the ring on the base of the hilt. It was a lethal-looking blade and the results were clear to all of them as Trevor managed one more step before falling flat on his face.
“Holy shit!” Sarah said, eyes wide. “How did you learn to do that?”
“I had a rough few years,” she replied with a wink at Peter. “It paid to know how to look after myself.”
“Aye, and you know how to do that, don’t you?” Peter said, a little coolly. “Get in the van and let’s go.”
Sarah followed the others towards the back of the van and realised with a start of surprise that she had barely spared a thought for the man that had just attacked them or the one he’d killed. She had no idea who he was or why he was in the back of the van.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was surviving and later, when it was safe, then she could mourn all of those who died along the way. Until then, it was just a matter of getting through each day as best she could.
She climbed into the van with a small moue of distaste for the strong smell of urine coming from the corner of the van where the man had been. They were all careful to avoid that and as the door was closed, she put her head back and sighed.
They would be back home soon enough and safe. Sarah was determined that once there, she wouldn’t leave again. Once there, she would mourn the loss of her friends and would curl into a ball and cry until the image of their deaths faded from her mind.
Once there, she thought, she would hide away and imagine a world where she could be safe. Though she knew that was likely never going to be a reality.
Chapter 20
Claire squeezed the trigger and fired off three quick shots, the sound seeming to fill the air between the two groups.
“Stay there or the next one will be right at you!” she called to the group that was approaching.
Thirty or more of them had come out of their block of flats, moving fast as they stared around fearfully, but intent on crossing the distance to where the trucks were being unloaded. As the first shots were fired above their heads, they stopped, dropping low.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, as he came up beside her. “Why are you shooting?”
“They were coming at us.”
Jack wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, and, if he were honest with himself, he was just happy that the former soldier hadn’t shot anyone. He sucked in a breath of cold air and fought back the urge to swear.
Behind him, a line of people was moving to and from the trucks, either burdened down with boxes of the MRE ration packs or headed back to the trucks for more. They would be piled at the bottom of the elevator shaft where a simple pulley system was being used to lift them up to the sixth floor.
More of the tower residents would then gather the ration packs and carry them up to the twelfth floor where there was an empty flat that had been converted into a storeroom for all of the tower blocks supplies.
As the storm lost its power, a sense of urgency could be felt by everyone down on the ground floor unloading the trucks. It would only be a matter of time before the infected came out and then they would have to either fight or get back inside to safety.
“I better go talk to them,” Jack muttered, shaking his head. “Try not to shoot anyone.”
“Perhaps, I can help…” Denis said, sidling up beside the young leader. “I could find out what they want. You’re far too busy to waste your time with this.”
“Fuck off!” Claire snapped.
“Oy!” Dobbs called. “Get your arse back to work, Denis.”
The old man scowled but didn’t turn away, determined as he was to prove his usefulness once again and regain some tiny shred of power.
“I’m an old man and I can assure you that I would be better served…”
“Just go away,” Jack said, sighing softly. “I can’t deal with you right now. Either help to unload the trucks or just sod off upstairs and start inventorying the ration packs.”
“But I’m just trying to-“
“Just bloody go!” Jack snapped. “Seriously, man. I’ve had it with you and I’m not in the mood to put up with your crap. Just, go.”
Still scowling, the older man, hunched his shoulders unable to ignore the sniggers and outright laughter of the other tower residents. He kept his back stiff as he stalked back into the tower and Jack put him out of his mind as he strode towards the other group.
They were just ordinary people, he realised as he walked. Men and women, young and old, all looking absolutely terrified. Which was understandable, as who wouldn’t be when the world had gone to hell and you were slowly watching your food run out.
“Hello!” he called, raising his hands, palms outward in the universal sign of peace. “Who’s in charge?”
Several of the cowering people looked towards one man, in particular, a well-built older man with grey in his hair and worry lines across his face. Like the others, he was dressed for the weather in jeans and a thick coat and didn’t seem to be carrying a weapon.
“Malcolm,” he said, slowly rising to his full height. “I guess I can speak for everyone.”
“Hello, Malcolm. I’m, Jack.” He stuck out his hand as he reached the other man who took it with a firm grip. “Good to meet you though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Yeah, you too, mate.”
“Sorry about the trigger-happy friend of mine.”
“No problem…”
“The thing is, she saw you all coming over in a rush and felt a little threatened. I hope you understand,” Jack said, before the other man could say more. “Everyone’s a little on edge.”
“Yeah, yeah, mate. I get that.”
“So, why were you rushing over?”
Jack made a point of surveying the crowd, noting that they at least weren’t carrying much in the way of weaponry, just a few knives and makeshift clubs. A few in the crowd had the good grace to look away and at least try to hide their weapons, but Malcolm merely looked him in the eye without fear or embarrassment.
“We’re hungry and scared. While we were hoping you’d be willing to share some food with us, we had to make sure we could protect ourselves.”
“Of course,” Jack said, forcing a strained smile. “But, unfortunately, we have a lot of people to feed and still not enough, so we have nothing to spare.”
It pained him to say it, but it was true. While the trucks held a large number of meals, they had to feed over a hundred people for potentially months. If the winter was bad, which it likely would be judging by the weather he had already experienced, then they could be stuck for a long time without anything but the supplies they could gather right then.
“Looks like you have enough,” Malcolm said, voice dropping low. “More than enough. We have children going hungry!”
“If you take a few of your people to the Army Reserve Barracks you will find pallets of the stuff. Once the trucks are emptied, I’ll make sure to leave the keys in the ignition for you.”
“Are you mad! We can’t go out there, we’re just regular folk. How are we supposed to survive against those infected people?”
“As best you can,” Jack said, equally softly. “We lost three good men to get those supplies. We aren’t going to share them.”
“You lost people so you know what it will mean for us. How many of us will die when you can just share some of what you have?”
“Less than will die if you try and take it,” Jack said, coldly. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I need to take care of my people first.”
“You’ll let us die out there!”
“Yes,” Jack said, turning away. He paused a moment to turn his head and look back. “I really am sorry.”
“Screw your sorry! We don’t need your sorry, we need your help!”
A single shot was fired a man cried out. Jack spun, arm’s rising with fists clen
ched but he relaxed as he saw a man on the floor clutching his arm, the heavy wrench he had been about to swing at Jack laying on the floor beside him.
“You were warned,” Jack said, sorrow filling his voice. “Go home.”
He didn’t look back until he reached Claire who had lowered her weapon so that the barrel faced the ground. She flashed him a quick smile, smugly proud of her shot.
“You didn’t have to shoot him.”
“What? You would have preferred he whack you over the head?”
“Guess not.” He put hands on hips as he surveyed the line of people carrying boxes of the rations. “How much longer do you reckon?”
“Buggered if I know, ask your mate. I’m just on guard duty.”
“Yeah, cheers.”
He gave his head another shake as he left her to keep watch by the door and found his friend standing in the back of one of the trucks passing boxes of the MRE ration packs to the waiting people.
“First truck’s unloaded,” Dobbs said, without pausing in his work. “This one should be done in an hour.”
“Good to know.”
“Problem with the other tower?”
“Nothing major.” He looked at the pallets stacked high with boxes behind Dobbs and shook his head again, something he’d been doing a lot he realised. “Better pass me some boxes then. Sooner we’re done, the sooner we can be safe inside.”
The large man grinned as he passed three heavy boxes down to Jack and with one final look to the lightening sky, Jack joined the line of those headed back into the flats.
****
“The fuck do you want?” Deacon asked, as Denis approached him up the stairs.
“None of your business.”
“Aye, well do one, I’m busy.”
“With what?”
Denis watched him a curiously as Deacon shone a small penlight down on the skirting board in the hallway.
“Looking for signs of rats running around, now fuck off and leave me alone.”
He’d clearly been checking the flats judging by the open door behind him, and Denis felt a chill of fear run down his spine. The only reason he would be wasting his time doing that was if he thought some of the vermin might have made their way into the tower block.
“Move!” Grunted another resident, brushing past him without much more than a glance at the indignant Denis.
The way they were treating him was too much! There was no way he would have accepted that sort of behaviour from anyone back before the infected rampaged across the world, and he didn’t see any reason to take that now.
Not that he could see any way to regain the favour of those ingrates that had turned their backs on him. No, not at that moment, but soon enough he would think of some way to regain his rightful place as leader of the survivors.
Chester Shaw walked his prodigious bulk past Denis without so much as a look his way, which was really too much for the old man to accept. His forced the sour look from his face and carried on up the stairs.
On the next floor, he paused, brow furrowing as there seemed to be some kind of obstruction to the flow of people. A small group of men and women had paused outside one of the doors and were talking amongst themselves. Seeing an opportunity to regain some favour, Denis puffed out his chest, threw back his shoulders and approached the group.
“What’s going on?”
There were a few grumbles and dark looks thrown his way, but the group consisted of some of the older residents who were less inclined to get on his bad side than the others were. A woman with her ear pressed to the blue-painted door, pushed herself away, shaking her head.
“That baby’s been crying for almost an hour!” she said. “I don’t know what’s up with these young women today, but she needs to be tending to it!”
“Children having children,” another matronly sort added. “That’s what it is.”
Denis ignored the women as they clucked and huffed. He pushed past them to the door and as he got closer, he could clearly hear the crying of the child. It was a high pitched, shrill, wail that set his teeth on edge.
“Damned woman,” he muttered as he turned the door handle. It was locked. “Has anyone got a key?”
“I think her neighbour has,” Jean, one of the disapproving women, said. “I’ve seen him come and go as he pleases.”
“Well?” Denis snapped, ignoring the new round of disapproving clucks. “Go and check!”
“He’s not in, is he?” Jean said. “Helping move the boxes with everyone else.”
“Is his door open?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I? Not like I go around checking people’s doors, do I?”
Gritting his teeth against the urge to snap a few choice words at her, Denis crossed the hall to the neighbour’s door. It was unlocked, the occupant not seeing any reason to lock the doors with the world falling apart at the seams.
It only took a moment for Denis to spot the small ashtray on the table beside the door. It contained some loose change and a set of house keys. He picked them up and went straight back to the young mother’s door.
With only four keys on the keyring, the third one unlocked the door and Denis turned the handle before pushing the door open. The sound of the wailing baby immediately increased in volume, setting his teeth on edge.
He took a tentative step into the flat. It was neatly appointed, though the furniture was old and well worn. There wasn’t much in the way of personal items around the place, with few pictures on the walls. The only picture in the place sat on the window ledge, a framed photo of the baby that was currently assaulting his ears.
“Hello?” he called but had no response.
A glance back at the gaggle of women let him know they had every intention of following him inside. He made a shooing motion, gesturing for them to stay back and headed towards the bedroom where the sound was coming from.
The baby’s wails were accompanied by the occasional thump as though there was someone moving around in the bedroom. Denis wondered for a moment whether the woman had suffered a seizure or some other ailment.
He reminded himself that he was checking on her to regain some goodwill amongst the residents, as his hand closed on the door handle. It opened silently, swinging inwards and he peered inside, eyes going wide as his stomach rebelled against him.
Emmie knelt on the floor, her shirt half open revealing a bare breast covered in small scratches, blood and saliva. More blood covered her lower chin, and as Denis watched in horror, it dripped down onto the floor.
She didn’t immediately look up, intent as she was on her task. Her squalling baby was in her arms, face red with blood and infant rage as it beat at its mother’s face with its left arm. What remained of its right arm was in her mouth as Emmie bit down, tearing at the bloody stump.
Denis’ stomach gave up and he vomited messily on the carpet, heaving again and again as the young mother ate the flesh of her own baby. He didn’t even think to close the door behind him as he bolted as fast as his old legs could carry him.
Out past the chattering women, not giving them a moment’s thought as he ran up the stairs to the shelter of his own flat. Behind him, a scream sounded as the women caught sight of the infected Emmie, leaving her bedroom with the still shrieking child suspended from one of her hands.
Those women scattered and Emmie approached the door at a run, straight out and into a group of people carrying boxes up the stairs. Their screams echoed through the stairwell as she ploughed into them.
Chapter 21
The prison van turned, passing through the gate set into the wire mesh fence that surrounded the tower blocks. Peter spared a glance for Kyra who made a show of ignoring him as she toyed with the long, slim, curved blade of her knife.
It had been a quiet drive and while there was much left to be said between the two, it was soon apparent to Peter that there was nothing about to be resolved in the cab of the prison van.
“Looks like the others came back,” Kyra said,
her smile slipping as she spotted the easily identifiable tall form of Jack. “Shit, he’s not going to be happy.”
“Since when do you care about what others think?”
“A lot changed since you went inside.”
Peter’s face darkened at the reminder of where he had been the past few years. It was something that he really wanted to discuss with her, though preferably when she didn’t have her knife.
“Who is this guy?”
“Jealous?” She cocked one eyebrow, the corner of her mouth turning up into a smile.
“You fucking him?”
“What if I were?”
“You do whoever you want, I just reckon I should warn him if he’s laying down beside you on a night.”
“Relax,” Kyra said, affecting a yawn. “He’s a decent guy. The people here voted for him to lead them while this shit’s hitting the fan. It was his friend who died back in the shopping centre.”
“Ah.”
There wasn’t much more to say to that, and he brought the van to a stop a short distance from the people in front of the flat, one of whom had an assault rifle raised and pointed their way.
“The fuck is she doing with that gun?”
“Calm down,” Kyra muttered, opening the door and climbing out. “It’s okay, don’t bloody shoot us.”
“Where’s everyone else?” Jack asked, face hard and full of anger as he strode towards her.
“Look,” Kyra began, but didn’t know how to tell him that his friend was dead, so just lifted her thumb and jerked it towards the back of the van. “In the back.”
Claire eyed her warily as she approached, gun still not quite pointed directly down as though she thought she might need it.
“Your friend?”
“An old friend,” Kyra said, nodding at Peter. “Sort of, anyway.”
Claire gave him a hard look then turned back to Kyra and nodded towards the truck.
“Everyone make it back okay?”
Kyra looked back. Sarah had climbed down from the van and she was speaking to Jack who staggered, taking a step back. She moved in, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into an embrace.
Rage (Book 2): The Infected Page 14