Among The Dead (Book 1): Shadow of Death

by Colley, Ryan

  “Positions of power have its benefit,” he said and drained his glass in one gulp before placing it down on the desk. He stood up. He was very tall, taller than myself. We were very similar in height; taller than most though. He leaned forward, hand outstretched.

  “I’m General Harrington,” he said, finally introducing himself. I took his hand, much larger than mine, and shook it. He had black leather gloves on; good quality too. He proceeded to shake James’ hand also. I noticed he had a ceremonial sword on his waist, as well as a pistol of some kind.

  Harrington sat back down and refilled his glass as he did so. He offered us some, which we both rejected, but he filled the glasses he offered us anyway and drank it himself.

  “One hundred years old. Rescued from looters,” he said, staring through the golden liquid in his glass. “Gone in a matter of seconds, like mankind.”

  I didn’t think he was talking to us, because when he caught us staring at him, he laughed.

  “Sorry about that. I probably have had more than my fair share today,” he said with the familiar warm smile of a man who had had a few too many whiskeys. The smile never reached his eyes, however; that is one thing which was odd. Then again, he had probably seen a lot of horrible things over the years. I doubt his eyes even remembered how to smile.

  There were a few awkward moments of silence before James broke it.

  “Sorry, sir, I don’t want to be rude, but why have you called us in here?” James asked impatiently.

  “I wanted to meet you both, to see who I’ve let into my base. I also have a proposal for you both,” Harrington said, stifling a yawn. He slurred his words ever so slightly. He finished his yawn before continuing with, “I think it might have to wait for tomorrow, however.”

  I didn’t say anything and just watched Harrington. I thought he probably was drunk, but nowhere near the degree he had acted. Maybe it was a test of some kind? Harrington saw me staring at him and he returned his own stare, eyes boring into me, making me feel uneasy.

  “So, what now?” I asked, looking between James and Harrington.

  Harrington yawned again, closing his eyes as he did so. When he opened them again, his focus was on James.

  “Just grab some food, there should be some from the day shift left over. When you’re done, get some sleep and I’ll send for you two tomorrow,” Harrington replied simply. He stood up to see us out but stumbled ever so slightly. He gripped the chair for support and laughed. “It may not be tomorrow if this whiskey is as good as they claim. See yourselves out!”

  James and I turned to leave when Harrington spoke again, “What are your names?”

  “James Morrison, sir,” James said, introducing himself. Harrington turned expectantly to me.

  “Sam. My name is Sam,” I said, being courteous. He didn’t need to know my full name.

  “Sam, eh?” Harrington said, rolling the words in his mouth, “Not from the West Country, are you?”

  “Bristol, actually,” I replied, beaming slightly. I had always prided myself on my silly accent. It was good to be recognised.

  “I enjoyed Bristol. Interesting history,” Harrington said with a nod of approval. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you both. Goodnight, James and Bristol.”

  “Sam, from Bristol,” I corrected with a smile.

  “I don’t think so, Bristol,” Harrington said with a sly smile. “Nicknames have a way of sticking around here. Yours will fit right in. Goodnight, Bristol.”

  James and I awkwardly made our way out of the house, not sure what to do. Although Harrington had been friendly and a reasonable host, I couldn’t help but feel he had insulted me, mocking my birthplace. That didn’t sit well with me. I loved Bristol. My fair city had a fantastic history and architecture, and the people were just great; cannot vouch for the bus service however. That being said, I couldn’t help but feel unease the entire time I was in his presence.

  “Is it just me, or was that really weird?” I asked James in a hushed whisper as we went outside.

  “Talk about unprofessional,” James said with a laugh, to which I chuckled. It was good to be able to share a laugh with him again, even if it was at our new host’s expense. Then again, he had one at mine. Still, James apparently hadn’t caught what I had meant. It didn’t matter.

  “Let’s grab some grub, man,” I said and wandered towards the mess hall, where Peters waited for us.

  CHAPTER 30

  James and I walked into the mess hall. There were a few soldiers, and they all turned to look at us like we were infected with the bubonic plague. Or, like we were the walking dead … Peters led us in without hesitation and continued onwards to the makeshift kitchen. I walked among the soldiers, looking at each and every one as I passed. Most were young and innocent-looking. They all had short, or shaved, hair, the women included. Men heavily outnumbered the women, but there were still a fair few of them anyway. Most of the soldiers looked scared, a few looked determined, and the rest looked lost. More than one had the thousand-yard stare on their faces, staring at the wall as though they could see through it and onwards for eternity. It was sad, yet I was relieved to see it. Even the ones trained for it were being affected by the conflict more than me. Turns out I wasn’t as far gone as I imagined. It stirred me forward mentally ever so slightly.

  We approached the food counter. Peters helped himself to the food that sat under heated lights. It had probably been cooked hours beforehand.

  “No five-star chef?” I commented wryly. Both Peters and James smiled at the comment.

  “Afraid not, he’s on leave,” Peters retorted. “You do have the fantastic choice of stew … or stew.”

  “Umm, what was the first one again?” I asked thoughtfully, imitating the tone of undecided restaurant goers.

  “That would be the chef special: the stew,” Peters answered, dumping several ladlefuls into the metal bowl he held.

  “Excellent! I’ll have that,” I exclaimed. I turned to James. “And you, Mr. Morrison?”

  James smiled, clearly not as enthusiastic about our charade as we were, but played along anyway, “I’ll take the second option, the stew.”

  “Excellent choices,” Peters said, finally deciding that his two bowls were full enough. “We have a do it yourself policy here in Harrington’s Kitchen so, you know, do it yourself.”

  I scooped up a bowl for James and myself and did exactly as was told of me; I did it myself.

  James, Peters, and I all sat together at a table away from everyone else. I don’t think Peters chose our table out of disrespect of the other soldiers, but simply because he wanted peace and quiet. We all tucked into our food and ate in silence. A silence we all appreciated after the day’s events. When you chose silence, it was so rewarding. When you were forced to be silent due to circumstance, it was one of the worst things. Funny that. I was a few mouthfuls into the stew before I even began tasting it. The food wasn’t fantastic. It was too watery for my liking. However, it was warm and nutritious. Something I had missed out on for the past few days. I didn’t think I would eat all that much to start with, but once the first spoonful hit the insides of my stomach, my hunger erupted. For days I had mostly avoided food. With it so readily available, I felt as though I had a compulsion and wouldn’t be able to stop if I wanted to. So I ate, and ate, and ate. My stomach hurt and I felt bloated, but it was a good feeling. It was a truly full feeling. I knew eating food where and when it was available would be essential to my survival; who knew how sparse supplies would eventually become. I might as well pack myself full of what I could, when I could. James ate with the same intensity and quantity as me, as did Peters. We all finished in silence. We all left in silence. The other soldiers didn’t spare us another glance the second time; saw us once, saw us enough. That was fine with me. I never enjoyed too many introductions as I could never keep up with all the names.

  Peters led us to the bunkhouse. We would sleep in with the soldiers that night, which I didn’t mind, but the fact it was
an unknown environment bothered me. He led us through the doors and to our beds. We had a bunk bed at the far end of the room. It was a metal pole frame bed, very similar to what you saw in every military film. The mattresses looked just as uncomfortable as they did in those films also. Most of the soldiers gave us a glance as we passed through the room. A few even gave us a friendly nod. Perhaps they thought we were reinforcements? I doubted that however, as we didn’t resemble soldiers in the slightest. We didn’t walk and talk with the same rigidness that is drilled into every soldier from day one. Perhaps they were just friendly? Everyone was friendly in the base, a strange but nice comfort. Peters supplied us each with a thin blanket, a sheet, and a pillow. Although I was used to having six or seven pillows at home, I didn’t complain. Once you have dozed in the bed of a Jeep, a military bed would be luxury.

  “Welcome to Hotel Harrington,” I said to James, grinning, when Peters left us to sleep. He gave me a weak smile, his eyes half-closed, exhaustion having its way with him. I smiled sympathetically and said, “See you in the morning, bud.”

  James merely nodded and collapsed into the bottom bunk. Looks like I was having the top bunk. I put my bedding down and heaved my bulk onto the top bunk, wincing as the frame creaked. It held and didn’t collapse. If the military knew one thing, it was how to make simple but durable things. I closed my eyes.

  TAO OF SAM – FOOD: THE BASICS

  This is pretty basic. Eat perishables first. Store cans and tins for later.

  Grab what you can in the early days and ration it. Ration it carefully.

  With time, you can farm the foods you need. Plant it in an area nearby which you can easily access. You won’t need a full-time guard there to protect it. The undead won’t be interested in your farmed goods. You can collect food when you need it.

  Don’t be afraid to loot houses around you. Just make sure the houses are empty of anyone, living or dead, first.

  Eat where and when you can.

  CHAPTER 31

  “Wake up you lazy turd!” a voice demanded.

  I opened my eyes. “What the hell?” I grumbled. I felt like I had literally only just closed my eyes and some idiot was shaking me to get up. I was about to shove him away when I noticed daylight flooding through the windows. I groaned, “What time is it?”

  “Six in the morning. Time you got up, newbie!” the soldier said, yelling the last word. I jumped and rolled out of bed, still fully clothed from the previous day.

  “I’m not even a soldier,” I growled angrily. I was never a morning person. “You could have at least let me sleep!”

  “Pfft, not gonna happen, newbie,” the soldier laughed, whipping his clothes off quickly. He changed the bed sheet with precision and pulled himself into the bed I had just vacated, his own pillow and blanket in hand. “You stay here, you pull your own weight. Just be glad you have the day shift. We nighties need our beauty sleep.”

  With that, he closed his eyes, his breathing relaxed, and he was asleep in seconds! I needed to learn that trick. I grumbled to myself as I watched other soldiers climb into their bunks as the previous occupants vacated their beds and the bunkhouse. James picked up both of our pillows and blankets. He stared at them for a few seconds before shoving them under the bed and shrugging. He rubbed his eyes and walked towards the door. We were the only two left in there; everyone else had left.

  “How’d you sleep?” I said to him as we exited. I yawned widely and rubbed sleep from my eyes. I didn’t feel like I had slept at all, yet the evidence suggested I had.

  “Like a log,” he yawned. He looked even more tired than I did.

  “Good for you,” I said enviously. I saw soldiers milling into the mess hall. I shrugged at James. “Guess that’s where we go.”

  The mess hall was a lot busier than the night before. Soldiers were laughing and shouting, fighting over food, and running for one of the few empty seats. James and I were the last in the queue, last to get food, and last to not be able to sit down. I already hated military life.

  When we finished our food, we followed the soldiers back outside. They proceeded to exercise in the open yard. Although we weren’t confined to the same rigorous routine as the soldiers, we still joined in. We felt very out of place just watching. So we did stretches, jumping jacks, and a short run around the base. The food didn’t sit well with me. My stomach grumbled and felt like it was swaying. The food so desperately wanted to escape me, but I managed to hold it down.

  After the exercise routine, the soldiers all disappeared to do whatever activities soldiers do. James and I stood around, unsure of what to do. We didn’t remain that way for long.

  “What do you two think you’re doing?!” a voice demanded from behind. We turned around to see a tall, well-muscled, man. He was older than most of the other soldiers we had seen, even more so than Harrington. He didn’t look like he ranked very highly, but he clearly commanded respect. Any soldiers nearby stiffened on his approach.

  “No idea. We were hoping someone would tell us,” I answered honestly. The man’s face went beetroot red. I imagined the words “AWOL” and “insubordination” flashing through his head. I quickly calmed his rage by adding, “We’re new.”

  He relaxed and a smile spread beneath his bushy moustache, which I’m pretty sure wasn’t regulation.

  “Well why didn’t you say so, boys?” He laughed, flashing tobacco-stained teeth. If there was a British equivalent of the term Jarhead, that fellow was one. “General Harrington told me to give you a message. With all the newbies joining, I wasn’t too sure if you were one of the grunts or not.”

  The word grunt brought forward images of my favourite Xbox game, Halo. The grunts were small and useless enemies which were only good for cannon fodder. I wondered how closely the analogy matched the soldiers he referred to.

  “General Harrington,” the man said, chewing something as he did so, “said he couldn’t see you today, something had come up.”

  Images of an empty whisky bottle came to mind.

  “He did say you could have free roam of the base, as long as you didn’t get in the way of anything,” the man said, continuing to chew something slowly. “Maybe you could watch some of the men. You might be able to learn a thing or two.”

  He said it in a mocking way. He thought lowly of us, but not necessarily in a bad way. I got the impression we were in the same boat as civilian women and children to him. I felt a bubble of anger well up inside me. He had no idea what experience we had! I was about to say exactly that when I realised he was onto something. We could learn something from the men. We could learn some new skills there.

  “What can we get involved with?” I asked, my interest surprising him.

  “Uhh, anything, I suppose,” he said, surprised at my sudden interest. “Just ask the men.”

  He did an awkward foot shuffle while he was turning around; it was the walking equivalent of a three-point turn. I waited for him to walk away before turning to James.

  “Anything take your fancy?” I asked him.

  “Munitions workshop,” he said without missing a beat. “I could really do with learning how to clean and assemble a weapon any bigger than the handguns I’ve been assigned in the past. You?”

  I turned to look at the watchtower. The sniper rifle in the man’s arms took my interest. James followed my line of sight to the gun and smiled.

  “Thought you would like them big,” James said with a chuckle and walked away. It was only when I was at the foot of the tower that I realised he was making a dirty joke.

  “Sly git,” I said under my breath as a smile spread across my lips.

  CHAPTER 32

  Sam

  “Knock, knock,” I called as I climbed the ladder. It was to alert the soldier of my presence, although I’m sure he heard me thud my way up the ladder. The tower felt as stable as the bed, yet it held.

  “Uhh, hello?” the sniper said dumbly, confused by my appearance. “Why you here?”

  “I was told
to learn something new, so here I am,” I said with a smile and shrug.

  “What you here to learn?” he said dumbly again. He clearly didn’t like his routine being disturbed.

  “How to fire that beauty,” I said, pointing to the rifle. “Reckon you can teach me?”

  The man stared at me for a few moments before simply saying, “Okay.”

  At first I thought the man had learning difficulties. I soon learned through conversation that he was anything but. He was a genius in school but suffered because he had no discipline. The words “problem child” were thrown around a lot, but he didn’t want to go into it. His family sent him off to a military academy where he showed extreme proficiency as a marksman. With training and a zombie apocalypse, there he was.

  “Have you ever fired anything bigger than a pistol before?” he asked, trying to gauge how much experience I’d had.

  “An assault rifle. Was fairly decent with it too,” I bragged, thinking to my brief stint in London.

  “Well, it’s nothing like that. The weight and recoil alone is insane,” he said quickly. I found that a slight Irish accent came through when he spoke with excitement, which was anything to do with what he was interested in. “First, we need to teach posture.”

  So he taught me posture. He showed me how to put the butt of the sniper rifle into my shoulder properly. It would prevent the gun kicking too much when it was fired. He showed me how to look down the scope with one eye closed, pace my breaths, and rest my cheek against the butt.

  “It’s almost like an art,” he said with a smile and a dreamy look on his face. He viewed my posture and my breathing and looked pleased. “Fast learner, aren’t ya! I’m assuming you know to hold your breath when you shoot?”