A few crashed and abandoned cars and vans on this little stretch but no zombies or survivors to be seen. Driving still Bristol bound at a slow, steady and vigilant 30mph we hit the small village of Cambridge. A one pub, no shop, one bus stop and sod all else village. It had a river run through it but no boat team so not to be confused with the university town of Cambridge for sure. On the right was a pub, large car park and camping/caravanning site at the rear. It didn’t appeal today so I wasn’t going to stop there for the night today. On the left however was a large lorry/distribution yard. I slowed to a speed that would have impressed a serial kerb crawler to scout the place out.
Big sturdy, tall fences topped with rows and coils of both barbed and razor wire. All the perimeter fences had box and curtain sided trailers parked side on and tight to the fences. I suppose to reinforce the fences from being pushed in and to provide height to make it defensible. A bit like a castle’s walls. It was also no doubt done to prevent prying eyes such as mine from seeing too much too. The main gate was a huge double gated affair. Visibly locked and chained with chain more meant for securing industrial plant to transport trailers than security. It too had a lorry trailer parked across it but this one was attached to a lorry, no doubt for moving it when the gates needed to open. On the roof of this one, and now I noticed the others too, were low level structures made from sheet metal, hay bales and old road signage. Seeing what was on the road in front of the gates told me straight away what they were there for. Six or seven bodies lay where they had fallen. How may were zombie or human I couldn’t tell but all had shots to the head. They were defensive placements and as if to demonstrate the fact to me a lone gunman stood up off an old metal folding chair behind the one on the gate. In his arms was cradled a rifle with a huge scope on it. He didn’t point it at me or make any move to do so, just stood there. To be fair he didn’t need to point it at me, from what I could see of the abandoned vehicles in the compound it looked like your typical red neck horror film setting and we were already in the middle of a real one as it was.
I’d seen enough of this place. I sped up slightly and rounded the corner out of their sight whilst keeping one eye on the rear-view mirrors and the gunman who still didn’t move.
From this I knew there were survivors out there, some of which, such as the lorry lot were sitting it out pretty well so far, but I’m pretty fucking sure they were not the type I’d like to throw my lot in with, especially not with a young girl in tow. Talking of which, Sarah had spent the last few moments still sobbing and buried in her knees and didn’t even notice or acknowledge I had even slowed down. Probably best, a dishevelled bloke sitting on top of a lorry with a large rifle standing guard over a kingdom of scrap may have freaked her out a bit more.
Last few houses on the right and we were clear of the village, then about 400 meters ahead was a roundabout. Left was a historical Cotswold market town with a swimming pool and train station called Dursley. I was sure I had heard that name in a Harry Potter film but was certain that it used to be home to a once famous diesel engine manufacturer at one point. Not that I was planning on finding out today as right was the village of Slimbridge and the wildfowl and wetlands trust. I was also a pound to a pinch of shit certain that Sarah didn’t want to go and find out about the breeding habits of Moorhens or the annual pilgrimage of the Bewick swan today so no brainer, ahead Bristol bound again.
A smaller haulage yard cum industrial plant hire business on the left but this one was uninhabited, gate wide open and no cars in sight. It then opened up into fields both sides for a bit. You could just make out the M5 to the left across them but couldn’t see anything moving on it. The road climbed slightly and then the lane I was in narrowed somewhat as we passed over a railway line. The other side it widened and started to descend again. A break in the central reservation allowed you, if you wanted, to turn into a layby on the right. Several vehicles were parked there, a bin lorry, Bedford Rascal camper, though more in the ditch than on the road, ambulance which I must admit caught my eye for supplies but had been pillaged on second look. On 3rd look the gurney was dumped on the verge rocking back and forth with its not so alive, not so dead patient still strapped into it. Several other cars all with doors and boots wide open had been picked of all useful items.
The burger van there though was trashed beyond belief; it had been ripped inside out. The fridge was out on the road along with the tea urn and utensils. The serving hatch shelf was hanging out of the rear side window of the silver Lexus parked in front of it.
Crying bloody shame as a bacon, black pudding and egg bap with brown sauce would have gone down an absolute storm about now.
At the bottom of the hill I dropped a cog to climb back up the other side of the hill, still surrounded by fields you could see down to the River Severn and Lydney and then Wales. About eight horses grazed in the one field and I was quite surprised they were still there. I wondered if their owners were still about somewhere as I’d have thought they would have been taken for transport or even food by now. I chuckled inwardly as it wasn’t that long ago that a large supermarket chain was caught using horse meat in its burgers and ready meals.
At the top of the rise I got the 90 back into fifth gear and looked over at Sarah. She still hadn’t said a word since the lane of the dead but at least she didn’t have her head buried in her hood or knees anymore. She was looking out of her door window. The tears were still free falling down her cheeks though. I still couldn’t bring myself to say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing and upsetting her even more, if that was possible.
Turning the corner at the top of the hill I could see black thick smoke in a plume just above some trees, about two miles further up the road. We passed a scrapyard on the left, with cars visible from the 70’s onwards stacked to the side of 80’s portacabins. I wasn’t sure which of them had stood up to the decades of weather and general abuse the best, but it sure looked like another horror film set. Once, or if, this all ever ended perhaps I could be a film set scout for Romero or Carpenter.
Fifty yards past the scrapyard was a motel packed with cars in its car park. Some had been looted and others had been used as makeshift campers. A few zombies could be seen shuffling around at the back of the car park and, with entrance doors wide open, I suspected the rooms were fully booked with them. Over another railway bridge and the smoke was clearer but I still couldn’t see the source of it yet.
The area to each side was starting to sprout more buildings, a workshop, barn, small industrial estate - and then I saw the cause of the smoke. A sign pointed right to the historic market town of Berkeley and its famous Castle. A petrol station just before the turning had hand painted ‘No Fuel’ signs on the pumps. And right smack bang on the junction was the cause – a car crash. Something was very wrong with the scene ahead.
Eight cars were blocking the road, most on their wheels and two upturned, one of which was on fire and one of its tyres was the cause of the black acrid smoke that could be seen for miles. It looked like a bad crash at first glance, but my senses were on fire! Second glance confirmed what was niggling at me. It was obviously staged. They had been parked there deliberately to block the road and cause a diversion of attention.
We had stopped about forty yards from the first car, the 90’s engine ticking over steadily. My fight or flight caveman instinct was screaming now. Time to listen to it. I turned to Sarah. ‘Hold the fuck on, ‘cause this may not bloody work!’
I stabbed at the clutch, selected reverse and revved the bollocks off the 90. The turbo whistled for its life. At any other time, it would have been a pleasure to listen to. The 90 shot rapidly backwards despite its considerable weight. A lot of people don’t know that reverse gear is much faster than first gear for outright acceleration, although the downside is that the top speed of reverse is much less than that of first. It’s quite handy if used correctly to get out of trouble.
With my left hand on the gear stick I placed my right hand, flat palmed (I
didn’t want a finger or thumb caught up in the steering wheel spokes and dislocating or breaking from what was about to happen) at 6 o’clock on the steering wheel. As the 90’s engine screamed away at what I felt was its top speed in reverse, I aggressively turned the wheel to the left. Part way into the turn I slammed on the brakes and the front wheels locked up helping the 90 turn through 180 degrees.
The heavily loaded 90’s body rolled and wallowed but somehow stayed planted on at least 3 of it’s big wheels. I cut away from the feeling that it was going to flip and concentrated on my four limbs that were a frantic blur! Feet working the brakes and clutch, left hand selecting first gear and my right realigning the steering wheel straight ahead. As the skid reached the direction I wanted, I released the clutch and nailed the accelerator to the floor. Gears, half shafts, diffs and the engine itself complained vigorously at being treated more like a track day drift car than a two plus tonne four-wheel drive but we made it and were rapidly heading away from the crash/roadblock. It was then that I realised that Sarah had been screaming at a high pitch, holding onto both her seatbelt and dash grab handle through the whole manoeuvre. To be fair I also realised my arse cheeks had been gripped tight biting onto the seat material below me too. My heart was beating out of my chest. Sir Isaac Newton must have been looking down at me today wondering how the hell I cheated his laws of gravity not to flip the 90 - but I had succeeded! I was pretty fucking chuffed with myself to be honest. Up yours Newton!
My relief was unfortunately short lived. In my ears was the high revving sound of a 250cc engine and in the rear-view mirror was a quad bike, travelling two up and catching up pretty damn fast. So fast that they were alongside the passenger side in seconds. They must have carried out this scenario a few times before as, although they were alongside, they weren’t so close that I could dink left and sideswipe their tiny but very agile vehicle.
The driver wore an open face helmet and goggles, jeans and bomber jacket. The rear passenger hadn’t bothered with head protection, apart from a pair of wrap-around Oakley sunglasses, and wore jogging bottoms and an ex-army DPM jacket. The passenger unslung a bow. Not like my recurve bow, this was a compound bow. A compound bow has a series of pulleys at the end of its limbs that enable it to have the power of a bow twice its size, and you need to use less power to draw it back.
No sooner had the passenger unsling it, they had drawn, aimed and let loose. There was a pinging kind of thudding noise as the thin carbon shafted arrow punched through the thin aluminium skin of the door, the door card and plastic door trim and embedded itself in the rubber and acoustic matting on the transmission tunnel. Sarah screamed her head off – which wasn’t new for the last few minutes – but at least with her legs tucked up on the seat she was unhurt. I just hoped to hell the arrow hadn’t damaged or affected the gear linkage etc as we needed every one of them to get the fuck out of here!
I surmised that by the height of the arrow the quad passenger had been aiming at the tyres but had missed. In my peripheral left vision, I could see the passenger had knocked up another arrow, the quad was still keeping a safe distance. The passenger took aim; this time it was obvious that the front tyre was the target. I stood on the brakes and swerved left just as the arrow was loosed off. I buried the accelerator again into the rubber matting. There was a clunk as the arrow hit something heavy duty and spiralled up into the air in front of me and landed harmlessly against the windscreen grill. My left swerve and accelerate manoeuvre didn’t bring me into contact with the quad as I had hoped but I saved a tyre and was now right behind it. Tantalizingly close but just not quite able to catch it.
The passenger was bent forward having a conversation with the driver, then awkwardly trying to both hold on and turn around to bring the bow to bear on me. With them still a fanny hair out of reach of me ramming them I undid my seat belt, un-holstered the shot gun pistol on my right leg.
‘Sarah!’ I shouted without looking at her. ‘Hold this wheel steady!’ I was semi expecting her to still be crying and useless, but she reached out and grabbed it. ‘Hold it just there!’ With my left hand I reached across myself and unlatched the door. It popped open but opening it against the wind speed was a bit of a struggle. I pushed it open enough to get my right arm and gun through and lined it up as best as I could. The surprise on the passenger’s face was very evident. Also, evident now I was able to get a proper look was that the passenger was a female. Not that it mattered, she was trying to highway rob us, so she was going to get some return justice.
She dropped the bow immediately like it had bit her, it hit the ground and rattled off the sump and diff guards as the 90 passed over it, she turned back around shouting and tapping the driver on the helmet. I fired the first shot as the driver was about to zig zag out of my aim but the contents of the first cartridge caught the passenger smack bang between the shoulder blades, turning the back of her DPM jacket from camouflage into a crimson flower design. Her arms flew out either side of her as she slumped onto the driver. I didn’t hesitate with the second shot and caught the driver in the upper thigh of his right leg. The injury, shock of the pellets ripping through his leg and the weight of the passenger bearing down upon him slowed him down a fair bit.
I pulled my arm back into the vehicle and threw the pistol into the passenger foot well. I took the wheel back off Sarah. ‘Cheers, now brace again!’ The Quad was pulling to the right, driver trying to speed away whilst also trying to shrug his dead passenger off his back. Too late, the tubular winch bumper hit the Quad on the rear left corner, spinning and then flipping the Quad and its passengers into the ditch.
In the rear-view mirror, I could see no movement. Fuck ‘em I say! If you are going to ambush someone then you should be prepared to have the tables turned back around. That was pretty much as Mad Max as I’d really like to get. Well getting to Bristol that way was now out of the question.
The dash clock showed it was just past 4pm. It felt like the longest day ever and I just wanted to crash out and sleep, the only question was where. I decided to put some distance between us and the quad gang first back the way we had come. Between the motel and the scrap yard was a turning I had missed when coming the other way. It pointed again to Dursley, it must be another route into town, my truckers nose built in navigation was telling me that there could well be a way around the roadblock from here, but it was getting late, I was tired and didn’t own a sat nav.
Chapter 11
I decided to head back towards the roundabout and decide where to go from there. At the roundabout I decided that left into Slimbridge was where I fancied laying my head down for a sleep tonight. My thought being that as it was a small village, I should find less inhabitants, dead or otherwise. On the left I thought I saw a zombie kid about to step out into the road but as I got closer, I realised it was a fibreglass model attached to some railings outside a school, no doubt to make people slow down. Slow down? I almost shat myself again, freaky as fuck zombie or no zombie! Then a British legion club and a few hundred yards further on was a smallish garage and forecourt. No doubt back in the 50’s and 60’s it had fuel pumps but today it just had a fairly empty forecourt and a workshop with big heavy wooden doors wide open. After all that had happened today, I had some A-Team like ideas and this place if both secure and suitable would fit the bill rather nicely.
I drove onto the forecourt and almost drove straight in. It was fairly light in there thanks to several large skylights, but I gave it full beam and the roof mounted LED light bar. If anyone was in there that should get their attention. No movement. I reversed the 90 back and turned it around so I could either reverse in or drive straight off. Sarah had stopped crying and was a bit more alert after the quad incident. She still hadn’t spoken though, and I couldn’t blame her. When life deals you a shit sandwich from the buffet car it’s best to chomp, chew, swallow and repeat. Nibbling at it prolongs how quickly you can move on to the desert table.
‘I’m going to leave the car running but shut my
door. Leave it unlocked but if anyone or anything approaches beep the horn and lock the door until I can get in. Okay?’
‘Okay but where are you going?’ She spoke up.
‘We can’t get anywhere near Bristol today, and I’m going to need to plan a way around the roadblock. We also need some food and I really need some sleep.’ I pointed to the arrow at her feet. ‘And I don’t want that to happen again.’ I got a faint glimmer of a smile from her. I asked her to pass me the shot gun pistol from her floor well, which she did. I shut the door, broke the shotgun pistol, ejected the 2 spent cartridges and replaced with two new ones. Keeping it in my right hand I approached the open doors.
They were indeed big and heavy with the keys still left in the middle lock. I left them where they were for the moment. As I had seen earlier there was an empty ramp ahead. Several unlocked roller tool chests, tyre changer and balancer, racks of spares, an office in the back corner and a toilet door next to it. The floor was oily in places but very tidy otherwise. I tried the light switches and the industrial strip lighting burst into light. With the lights on I noticed a wide wooden staircase leading up to a mezzanine floor. Looking in through the office window I could also see that it was empty and tidy since the owner had left it.
Next, I went to the toilets, using my left foot to push open the door and my nose was met with the smell of pine scented bleach. It too was empty and clean and upon turning the tap on we had running water. Bonus. Double bonus was that we seemed to be devoid of life/non-life in here so far. Climbing the mezzanine steps though my nose was hit with a familiar smell. Rotting flesh. The mezzanine apart from looking like it had been used lately was tidy apart from the clear plastic wrapped body of an oldish chap in the corner. Through the plastic I could see that the poor chap had been garrotted – strangled with a cord of some kind but no head wound. The only thing I could think was that this person was killed before the outbreak and that was why he hadn’t turned. It would also account for why he stunk so much, not decaying at the same rate as the zombies.
The Reanimated Dead (Book 1): Into the Cotswolds Page 8
