The Reanimated Dead (Book 1): Into the Cotswolds

by Wakefield, Trevor

  It eventually got around to me having to talk about my day so I told her about the fireworks, the explosions and when it got around to Jerry, I couldn’t help welling up. I had only known the guy for the morning. At least I didn’t cry in the canteen. I said that a few of us will have a drink for him tonight – we drank every night so far but tonight would be different. Sarah said I should talk about it. I almost said, ‘Do as I say, not as I do then?’ but that would have been childish and shitty. I just nodded. To be fair I expect 98% of the remaining human population had PTSD after what they had all seen and done.

  We walked back to the camp together. Sarah grabbed her towel and wash kit and headed off to the showers to rid her of the gardening grime. I grabbed my dwindling half bottle of Morgan’s Spiced and took a swig before slipping it into my pocket and heading to Kev and Bryan’s.

  Chapter 22

  At Kev and Bryan’s there were seven seats set out around the fire pit made ready to light. Kev was handing out bottles of lager out of a big box from under his arm. I counted he had put six on each chair, he normally hands them out as we go, so tonight looked like it was going to be a bit of a session.

  Bryan turned up. ‘Hey Brian, you okay?’ I just nodded. He was placing bottles of spirits onto tree stump tables. ‘Don’t stand around mate, grab a seat and a beer, others will be here soon.’

  I dug out the Gerber Multi tool from my belt, got the bottle opener out and sat down. Reaching to my right I grabbed a bottle of lager and popped the top off, took a long swig and then put it precariously on my knee. It wasn’t ice cold, but it was cool and welcome and that was good enough for me. By the time Stuart and Steve turned up I was trying not to open number three, they were going down too easily. The rest of the guys turned up around five or six minutes later with Damien. The guys were all hugging him and shaking his hands. I turned to the chap next to me, John, or Suzuki man as I called him. I whispered, or at least I hoped to hell I was whispering. ‘Am I missing something John?’

  John quietly chuckled and turned to me to whisper back. ‘They were partners, an item as it were.’

  I wasn’t shocked, I was just stupid and drunk. I was also glad that no one here felt that Damien and Jerry were any different for being gay. They had probably taken more risks than anyone here, recruiting people for this place and scoping out the shopping areas and doing it on a bloody bike! Nah, these guys were heroes. I caught Damien’s eyes and stood up. ‘Mate, I’m so sorry. We went through some really crazy shit this morning and then when we thought we were just minutes from home…’ I just let the conversation hang, I didn’t know what to say, he just reached out and hugged me. He was crying, tears cascading down his face, the wetness on my cheek I soon realised was from my own tears. For a moment I felt ashamed crying in front of all these guys who had probably seen more disturbing things than me, some of them even before the infection. As the hug broke off, I looked around, we all had tears, no one was alone in this.

  ‘It wasn’t yours or Leighton’s fault. It was an honest accident from what I’ve been told.’ I reassured him it totally was, and he shook my hand again. ‘If you had known us since the start of the outbreak, and what we had both been through, then you would have thought we had already out lived our allocated lives. At least it wasn’t in vain and he helped feed this place.’

  I sat back down thinking. Leighton was the name of the poor chap that topped himself then. I had been here for a little while but still only knew a couple of the chaps well.

  We drank for hours or so it seemed, my six bottles went in no time, cola and Morgan’s rum followed. There were many stories of both Leighton and Jerry, what they were like before the outbreak and during. I’d have liked to have got to know both better from what I was hearing. There was no animosity or dislike to Leighton for what happened, everyone was on the same page that it was a tragic accident and tragic over reaction. The more they spoke about Leighton and what kind of guy he was I started to understand how he must have felt.

  Toasts of butterscotch schnapps were flying left, right and centre for Jerry and Leighton, the shopping guys, the security guys, the firework guys (Jerry and I) and even the TRADs for playing ball and not being too much trouble.

  I don’t mind admitting I was feeling as pissed as a doss house mattress. 6 bottles of beer, my half bottle of Morgan’s and the shots had my head set to the spin cycle. A few of the chaps had left already, they had the early shift on the gates and walls in the morning. I was thinking of standing up and making my excuses and heading to camp when one of the guys from the gate house came running over to Brian with a Walkie in his outstretched arm.

  ‘Bryan! You’ve got to take this mate! Marc and Kris have problems!’

  Bryan took it and listened for a moment. ‘Fuck!’ He stood up. ‘Tower four now!’ Chairs and bottles were scattered as four or five of us piss heads tried to get up and off to tower four as quick as possible without landing on the fire pit on the way. Tower four, I knew was on the front left corner guarding the fence. Built like a tree house with an observation platform Marc actually lived there while the others shared lookout duties. I had met Marc only once at one of Kev’s piss ups. By rights he was a serving Royal Marine Commando but was home on leave when it all happened. He lost his mum and dad on the first day and lived at the school since Christopher invited him in after seeing him scoping the place out. He was just shy of six-foot tall but built like a brick shit house, with another brick shit house attached. Sociable enough normally but goes very quiet and introverted once he’s had a few drinks. He built the place himself during the first week and was one of Bryan and Kev’s most trusted blokes.

  We reached the bottom of the retractable ladder at tower four just as two bodies unceremoniously hit the ground from the floor hatch. The running alone on a belly full of mixed booze made me want to vomit as it was, without seeing two ‘fresh‘ bodies slap to the ground without bouncing. Kris could be seen on the observation deck so at least one of the bodies wasn’t him.

  Suzuki guy started checking on the bodies immediately. The one guy was looking so far to his right that he could have bent over and licked his own arse. The blood from his nose and mouth told John that his neck had been broken before the fall from the hatch. The other guy looked like he had fallen into a ‘Nutri-Bullet’ from one of the shopping channels. He’d been frenziedly stabbed to death around the chest and throat with the sheath knife used to do the job sticking out from his lower jaw, blade up through the roof of mouth and into the brain.

  Marc’s combat boots swung into view as he made to come down the ladder. ‘So…What’s the craic mate?’ Asked Bryan trying to sound professionally concerned and not pissed like he was.

  Marc, now stood on the ground, his fleece, camouflaged arms and olive-green front and rear panels, though the front of his fleece was glistening almost black in the night-time light… and dripping in fresh blood in the torch light of those now assembled, no doubt from blender guy. He nodded to broken neck guy. ‘He’ll need putting down, I’ve not yet destroyed the brain on him yet.’ One of the guys assembled slipped a blade through broken neck guys temple to stop him turning as Marc undid his fleece and removed a large piece of laced leather from his neck. When held up to the light you could just see the barest slit through it and a small corresponding nick on his throat. Nothing more than a shaving cut thanks to the thick leather.

  Marc continued. ‘I was kipping in my chair in my quarters when this one.’ He drove his combat boot into the kidney area of broken neck guys body. ‘Grabbed my face, covering my mouth and tried to slit my throat. Luckily he was too dumb to know why they call us Marines Boot Necks!’

  Back when the Royal Marines were formed over three hundred years ago their job, as well as being soldiers, was to guard ships, captured or confiscated for piracy. Some pirates would try to sneak back aboard the confiscated boats and slit the throats of the men guarding them to retake the ships. The Marines soon came up with an idea to stop this by cutting the lac
ed top of an old pair of boots off and lacing it around their necks to protect their throats. This earnt the Royal Marines the Boot Neck nick name.

  ‘I reached behind me, grabbed his collar, pulled him over in front of me, held him between my legs and broke his neck. The other fucker froze, and I went to work on him with his mates’ knife.’ He said matter of factly.

  Suzuki guy stood up. ‘Anyone else notice who these two are?’ I didn’t have a fucking scooby doo, certainly now one of them was a three-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle in glorious 3D. ‘It’s those armed robber fuckers. Kev shot one of them at Sainsburys the other day.’ John continued.

  ‘But Christopher wouldn’t have let them in!’ Bryan Replied.

  ‘I didn’t see Christopher on the gates as we left and when we came back later, he still wasn’t there. I’ve been told that he was supervising the planting and making of vegetable plots all day.’ I said.

  ‘Why would they want to get in, knowing that if Christopher was on the gates that they wouldn’t, to then want to get back out several hours later without being seen?’ Asked Bryan. No one answered. ‘Anyone know if they were on foot, in a car, van, bikes etc?’ He asked again.

  A few of the assembled guys looked at each other but had no answers. ‘Won’t know until tomorrow when the morning shift guys are asked.’ Suzuki guy stated. ‘We stopped logging people in when Christopher kicked off about it.’

  Brain nodded. ‘Okay, first thing in the morning I want to find their vehicle, caravan, tent or whatever.’ He looked at Marc. ‘I’m too pissed up to deal with these two scrotes tonight. Can you please just chuck a tarp over them for the night and I’ll deal with them in the morning.’

  Marc nodded. ‘But I’m drawing up the ladder after you lot feck off, tonight is feeling too weird, and that’s without a damn good drink.’

  I took that to mean the night was over and started staggering off to my hammock, it was around two am as it was. I could see that some people had fires going in their camps and thought that would be a good call for tonight. Back at the 90 I lit the fire that was already laid up in the fire pit. I took a lungful of smoke as I was blowing it to get it going, scrabbled to my feet, made it to the back of the old oak tree and did a nice psychedelic yawn into the ivy and grass. Three special yawns and I was done. My eyes stung like buggery, but I wasn’t finished here until I’d had a slash. I needed to get a piss pot, or it was going to start smelling like a urinal around here soon. That could wait though, I needed water, lots of it and sleep.

  I took the book off the hammock and placed it on my chair, finished a 2liter bottle of mineral water and cracked open another. I climbed into the hammock, flicked the fleece blanket over me, and place a shotgun pistol on my chest, we didn’t know if those guys were alone or if there were more of them. I had a few more swigs of cool water and led back, the tarp was only slightly spinning above me, closed my eyes and was gone.

  Chapter 23

  I heard a gunshot to my immediate right. My eyes burst open as another one went off and what sounded like liquid splashing across my tarp above me. I threw myself out of my hammock, rolling on to my left knee and aiming the shotgun pistol towards the windbreak just as it collapsed under the weight of a dead zombie on its way to the floor. Standing in my new viewing window was Kev. MP5 across his chest and 9mm pistol in his hands. ‘Fuck me Brian, your snoring is atrocious, literally waking the dead!’ His sarcastic tone was hiding his fear, just.

  Fuck, my head hurt, the gunshots and doing a Bodie and Doyle out of bed sure didn’t help. I downed some more water as I fought to put my trousers on one handed. ‘What the fuck is going on? Have they gotten in?’ I asked, now slipping my boots on.

  Kev was scanning the area carefully as he spoke. ‘No breach from what we can tell, all the watch posts are reporting fences secure and quiet, must have come from tent city.’

  ‘Do you think someone has died and turned without someone noticing or doing anything?’ I walked to the 90 and unlocked it as I waited for a reply, his head was as probably as foggy as mine. Got out my shotgun pistol belt with one left in it and put my other in. Pulled out my shotgun and the bag of shells. My crossbow slung over my shoulder and rest of bolts in my hand.

  ‘Your own pump action too? Your sneaky fucker.’ I just shrugged. He continued talking as we got to the back of the 90. ‘Could well be but no one would leave a dead body to turn, would they?’ He speculated as I opened the back door. I pulled out a Police tactical vest I had ready with gas cannisters, tazer, knife and mask hanging off it and put it on, slung the crossbow over my shoulder and extra bolts in a spare Molle pocket. I took another mask out and handed it to Kev. He looked at me blank.

  ‘This gas.’ I tapped one of the cannisters. ‘And pepper spray is a secret weapon mate, believe me.’ I took out a pair of Northern Ireland leather gloves. They are thick leather gloves, but the knuckles are padded inside with a ‘Bubble’ of lead shot on the outside of the knuckles. Giving you a heavier and harder punch. I could never understand people punching zombies in films and TV. Surely if a tooth cut a knuckle during a punch it would be the same as a bite wouldn’t it? I wasn’t taking any chances. I put on my leather jacket, tactical vest and gloves. I toyed with the idea of helmet and visor, but it all went to shit last time I wore one at the police station.

  Sarah was now hanging out of the roof tent asking what was going on. ‘Get in the 90. Take your bug out bag and lock yourself in with the bolts, nothing will get in and safest place to be around here.’ I told her.

  ‘Are they in the camp?’ She asked panicking.

  Kev replied. ‘Somehow, we don’t know how many though.’

  ‘You’ll be fine in the 90.’ I gave her the keys. ‘Turn all the lights on, you know the switches on the dash pod?’ She nodded. ‘Turn them all on, if no-one comes back in thirty minutes then turn the engine on too.’ She nodded and was crying. ‘You know how to do that don’t you?’ She nodded again. ‘Remember, bolt yourself in and don’t open up for anyone other than me or Kev. Okay?’

  ‘Okay, but how long will you be? Do you have to go?’

  I looked at Kev. We really didn’t know the extent of how many were in here. ‘We will be back as soon as possible; we won’t be the only two out here.’

  Sarah climbed in, I heard the switch click in the ignition, followed by the slam of the door and the clunk of the spring-loaded bolt shooting home to lock the doors. Kev and I stood either side of the 90 as first the headlights came on, then the roof mounted LED’s and finally the two roof spotlights. Tent city was lit up, or at least a portion that the lights could reach a hundred yards or so away. It was a mess! Collapsed tents and awnings everywhere. There was no screaming just moaning, people were being killed and eaten in their sleep!

  We were just about to walk towards tent city when there was a knocking coming from the 90’s windscreen. It was Sarah again. I stopped and turned.

  ‘Is this anything to do with the dirty big red van that they let in yesterday?’ She said through the missing driver’s window.

  ‘What van?’ I asked

  ‘The dirty red big van they let in. The blokes in it parked up and walked off straight away, wandering around camp. People say the van was rocking about on its own and moaning could be heard coming from inside.’

  ‘Kev? Have you heard this?’

  ‘Not from anyone else, first I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Do you think…’ My hung-over brain could barely process it never mind format it into words for my mouth to speak. I took another long swig of water as Kev finished off my sentence for me.

  ‘That those two fuckers parked a van full of TRADs in amongst the camp and then tried to leave us to it as revenge for killing one of them?’

  I swallowed another mouthful of rehydrating water. ‘Yeah, pretty much.’

  ‘Bit fucking extreme don’t ya think? That’s pretty much biological warfare!!’

  ‘Can you think of anything else that fits their reasons?’ I asked as I put the
now empty bottle on the bonnet.

  ‘Not really.’ He admitted and got on to the radio and filled everyone in. moments later the tower lights were bought to bear on tent city and lights came on in the main building, not that they had to worry, Christopher locked that place up every night with his family and friend safely inside.

  Kev clipped the radio back to his belt. ‘John, Simon and Bryan are going to come from the back as we go forward. They’ve got glow sticks on their chests and back so that we can ID them and not shoot them. Fuck that was a great idea! I ran back to the 90 and grabbed a fist full of them from my stash, ripped a few open, cracked them, shook them and clipped them to my vest, I handed the rest to Kev and he looked at me.

  ‘Fuck me Brian, are you sure you’ve gotten everything? Don’t have a mini gun stashed back there or need a piss before we go?’ He mocked.

  ‘A few more pints of water and a party pack of painkillers would go down great at the moment.’ I admitted.

  ‘Well it’s only going to get noisier tonight I’m afraid mate.’ It was about three thirty am, we walked down the hill, the lights behind us making our shadows look like two huge giants about to kick ass in tent city, Kev with MP5 and Pistol and me with pump action and pistols at the ready.

  ‘Start at ground zero?’ Kev asked. I nodded my agreement. The spotlight from tower three had picked it out for us, it was only a few meters into tent city. It was indeed a dirty big red van. LDV high top ex-post office van by the look of it and the faded/non faded paint patterns on the bonnet and doors. There was a blue nylon rope tied to the passenger door handle and some also on the sliding door handle. It looked like they had been tied together at one point, but the sliding door was now open wide. Taped to the passenger door frame with plenty of duct tape was a small can of thinners with a tiny pin-prick hole in the bottom. The thinners dripping bit by bit on the rope over several hours would have weakened it to the point it broke or melted through completely and the door opened, like a crude timer device, so they would have been out of the way and long gone when the zombies escaped and caused havoc.