Z-Day Series: Book 1 First Burnz
Page 16
Chapter 13
Everyone else rushed to the truck that I was in, piling in and almost squashing me! This truck had a top, so we were safe. Well, I say safe. We were safe until we heard the low moans and groans, and the thumps of Zombie feet against a stone floor, and more thumps as the Zombies tried to enter our improvised hiding place.
Nobody looked at me. Nobody asked if I was ok. All eyes were on the doors of the truck, all faces horrified, pale skin glowing in a speck of light from a small crack in the doors. For about half a minute, no one moved. No one uttered a single word, made a single sound.
Finally, after what seemed like hours but was just about thirty seconds, I pulled out my Sawn Off Shotguns, pointing them both at the doors of the truck and levelling them with a Zombie’s slowly appearing head. Getting in? I don’t think so, mate.
My temporary paralysis over, the shots from my trusty guns seemed to echo around the truck, making everyone cover their ears, and attracted other Zombies, but it gave hope to the others, who pulled out their various weapons and started to attack.
Somebody, at some point, lit a lantern and helped us to see our deadly enemies, which made the fight easier for us and also gave us more chance of getting out of the death trap tunnel.
As soon as we had cleared the tunnel of Zombies, we had to try and get out of it. The rubble had covered the only entrance; a small wooden door up some stone steps. The tunnel itself probably deserves some form of description, by this point, so I shall say this: It was dark, damp, and made of stone, with wooden beams to support it. Some strange sort of liquid sometimes covered some of the floor, and even dripped from the ceiling, but it didn’t really bother us. Not much, anyway.
Some people started digging, others just watched lazily. I helped straight away, hearing reassuring voices on the other side of the rubble that made me keep on at it. It seemed to be a weak support beam that had made the ceiling crash down, so I reminded myself to tell the Library Manager to check all of the support beams.
Quite soon, we broke through the seemingly endless wall of stone and wood, the light from the Library making us shield our eyes, but joy erupted from my heart as I was reunited with my friends and dogs. You would have thought that I had been away for years!
An order to fix the tunnel was issued, but, until then, the orders would have to be fetched above ground. Courtney immediately offered to do the job, alongside a few others, so I volunteered to go with her. We would need the space for the crates, so we couldn’t bring anyone else.
As we prepared to go, I noticed a rather sad girl, all on her own in a corner of the Library. Grabbing some ammo, I headed over to her, taking in her rather rugged appearance. Short, very curly, blond hair, and two grey eyes like pebbles. The dirt and bruises on her face and arms made for an almost creepy look, although I am sure that she did not mean for that to happen.
Her clothes were mostly rough rags, a soiled t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans that showed her ankles. I said hi, but she didn’t respond, so I sat with her, and she slowly opened up to me, heaven knows why.
Her name was Ellie, she was almost eleven and she had lost her parents. Not bitten yet, she had said, with a bleak smile.
I got to know her more, and managed to convince Courtney to let her come along for the ride. She was quiet, very quiet, but seemed to grow on Courtney, as she had to me.
The journey was long, but that just gave us time to talk and listen to Survivor FM. The dogs had been left back at the Library, so that we had as much room as possible in the back, and we had a walkie talkie, which we had to communicate with the other trucks with, so that they knew we were safe and also so that we could protect the other trucks if needed.
After about an hour, we arrived at a highly protected factory building. And when I say highly protected, I’m talking electric fences and barbed wire. There was a special entrance for us, around the back, where a few men were hanging around with A-K-47s. Courtney almost flared up, when they pointed jokes at our age, but, upon seeing her guns, they promptly shut up and started to load the van.
As soon as the doors slammed, we set off once more, Ellie talking almost inaudibly at certain intervals during the ride. She told us about her Dalmatian, Spot, how she had been forced, by her parents, to leave him behind.
We felt quite sorry for her, then, and promised to stop at her old house to try and rescue him, as we both knew the pains of leaving beloved pets behind.
Our journey finally ended, with the S.W.A.T van bumping over the road, which was in terrible condition, right up to the back alley of the Library. The crates were hauled in by workers, pulled through the small door and pried open with crowbars. The goods were then sent to various different stations around the Library, such as: Blankets and pillows in the sleeping area near the fire, ammunition and guns on the bookshelves, knives and pistols in the boxes dotted around the bookshelves and all food to the improvised kitchen area, which used to be an office.
With all of these supplies, you’d think we’d be well off, but we weren’t, not really. More and more people came every day, some for supplies, some for beds, and some just to be an inconvenience, it seemed. I’ll tell you about such a group now.
It must have been a Wednesday, and we were all doing our various jobs, when these people come striding in, demanding food and beds! I mean, they didn’t even have guns or weapons! One glance at our guns, and people usually quiet down, but not these. Two women and three men, no kids, no pets, just barging in! It was almost like they thought they were royalty or something!
They wouldn’t work, they wouldn’t help, they just wanted supplies and help for themselves. Ignorant, if you ask me. Ignorant and stupid. Courtney didn’t like it, well, none of us liked it, but these people were getting on Courtney’s nerves, and nobody does that without getting a gun to the head or a punch to the jaw.
When we tried to ask them to work, they looked at us like we were absurd and refused rudely. They all talked like they were really posh, you know, those accents that make you want to... I don’t even know, they just sounded and acted like they thought they were so much better than everyone else, and that they should be treated so. Not happening.
The Library manager finally got them working, two of the men down in the tunnels, one of the women in the kitchen, the other sorting out supplies and the third man opening the crates. But even then they weren’t happy, complaining, grumbling, moaning, hell, I thought they would never shut up!
Daniella even, quietly and to me alone, suggested we shove them outside and see if they stop making so much noise. To be honest, I think it might’ve actually worked, but we wouldn’t have been able to do it. Our minds would have told us not to, that it was wrong, so, no matter how annoying they were, we had to put up with them, until something happened that made the Library manager send them packing.
I was just hauling a particularly large crate up into the main room of the Library, when a loud squealing and a few barks filled my ears. The dogs! The large crate stopped me from seeing what exactly was happening, but I can describe it from Daniella and Teegan’s descriptions (Courtney was still down in the repaired underground tunnel, so she didn’t see anything)
Apparently, one of the puppies had got in the way of one of the new women, and she had kicked it savagely. Of course, Molly, being their mother, was not having that, so bit at the women’s, whose name was Sharon, leg, catching her just above the ankle and making her squeal.
Molly would have left it there, according to Daniella, but Sharon decided to kick again, kicking out at Molly herself. This time, Buddy decided to step in. Or should I say bite in? His powerful jaws snapped around her leg, causing her to scream in pain and despair, blood running down her leg in a steady trickle from each of the teeth marks.
You can be sure that we tried to sort things out, but the posh group was not happy. Not at all.