Zombie Castle Series (Book 4): ZC Four

by Harris, Chris

  With every minute that passed, my confidence grew and the more I relaxed. I was genuinely enjoying myself and found it impossible to keep the smile off my face. Flying over Birmingham erased it, though. Spotting the landmark of Warwickshire County cricket ground, on an impulse I turned towards it, reducing height and speed and once overhead, banked in the direction of my house, which was close to it.

  My road was easy to find as it backed onto a park and I soon spotted it. Flying over the area, I was horrified as I looked down to see a lot of burnt-out houses and the dark shapes of massed zombies filling the area.

  “My God!” I exclaimed as I pointed my house out to Chris. “Can you take a few pics, mate? I need to show Becky this when we get back.” I remained silent as he took photo after photo of the desolation that was once the nice suburb of Moseley, where I used to live. My house seemed to have escaped the fires that had ravaged many, but it was clearly a dead area. It was once so vibrant and full of life, now it was home to only the undead who filled every street.

  “It looks like going on holiday saved our lives in more ways than one,” I said quietly, trying to rationalise the devastation below me. “We wouldn’t have made it if we’d woken up to, that would we?”

  “Face it, mate,” replied Chris seriously. “You would probably have caught the virus or whatever caused it, anyway.” He paused as he looked out of the window before he added softly, contemplating how he himself had survived the outbreak, “It’s down to luck for all of us. You were on holiday; we spent the night at home and didn’t go to work in the morning because of the hospital appointment. All of us are here because of luck, fate or whatever you want to call it. Now we have to make the best of it and do our best to carry on.”

  We both fell silent as we looked at the ruined city five hundred feet below us. Eventually Chris spoke again, speaking as cheerfully as he could to try and alleviate the anguish he could see I was going through. “Come on, Maverick. There’s nothing we can do about it now, so let’s continue the mission.” He inspected the map before calling out the bearing we needed to take. Keeping an eye on the compass, without saying a word in case my emotions beat me once more, I banked the plane and flew on, leaving my old home and life behind us, most likely never to see it again.

  “Down there!” Chris exclaimed excitedly, twenty-five minutes later as we flew over open countryside. He pointed out of the window and I dipped the wing on the plane so I could see where he was pointing.

  A farmhouse, standing solitary amongst open fields below us, had smoke coming from one of its chimneys. I reduced speed and altitude and headed towards it while Chris studied it through binoculars.

  “They’ve got barricades on all the entrances. Looks like we have survivors,” he reported as we got closer.

  “Okay, let’s try and get their attention,” I said as I adjusted the throttle and other controls to set the plane up to fly circuits around it. “Have you got it on the map?”

  He traced his finger across the page on the map open on his knees until he stabbed at a spot. With a pen he pulled from his pocket, he circled the small dot of a farm that was marked on the ordinance survey map before replying, “Got it. Looks in a remote spot as well.”

  On the second circuit, we both saw at the same time a group run from the main building, all staring up into the air at us. “We’ve got their attention. Let’s see if they’re friendly or not,” Chris said. Not sure how we were going to do that from three hundred feet, I kept quiet and concentrated on flying a circular pattern around the sprawling farm buildings, casting occasional glances below me at the now growing crowd that stared back up at us.

  “They’re waving, at least,” reported Chris as he waved back. He reached into the back of the plane and grabbed the pack he’d brought with him. Unzipping it, he pulled out a notepad and began writing on it. His plan how to deliver the message became clear when he rolled it up and pushed it into an empty water bottle he’d also retrieved from the pack.

  “Want me to fly overhead?” I asked.

  “Yes, please,” he then spoke in his awful posh accent, “Message in a bottle ready for delivery, Maverick. He slid back the small window by his side.” And added, “Bomb bay doors open. Begin bombing run, please.”

  I levelled the plane and headed straight for the house as he held his arm out of the window, with the bottle clutched tightly in his hand.

  “Spot on!” he shouted with delight after he’d released it and watched it fall. “Right on the button. Now let’s carry on to our destination. We’re burning fuel flying around in circles like this.”

  “Don’t you want to see if they’ve read it?” I asked.

  “They have it. I told them we would be back overhead in about an hour and to find a way to reply.”

  When I didn’t reply, he continued, “I asked if they were safe and needed help. I didn’t tell them where we were because I think we need to know if they’re good guys or not first. But I did say we were a group in a secure location with plenty of supplies. I’ll get two different replies ready. Whichever one we use will depend on how they respond. Basically, one will wish them well and the other will tell them we’ll attempt to reach them as soon as we can.”

  “Good idea,” I answered. “What are they? A few hours away from us by road, at most, so it’s well within our capabilities to get to them.” Then I looked ahead at the mountains of Wales that were visible on the distant horizon. “Anyway, let’s try and find the main reason we’re up here and check out this army base.”

  As I knew the area and was more familiar with the landmarks that would aid our navigation, Chris took a turn at the controls while I kept us on the right course.

  Thirty minutes later, he began circling the plane once more, this time over what looked to be a large sprawling military base. Following the instructions Steve had been given, we identified the building that we reckoned contained the bunker holding the trapped personnel. We could easily have found it without any instruction, though, as the area surrounding the building was thick with zombies. It was anyone’s guess why they were still there. Maybe they’d followed others as they tried to reach it and nothing had drawn them away, or possibly through some remaining combined memory held in diseased brains, they collectively knew the area contained more living. It was clear, though, that whoever was inside was trapped and in a hopeless position unless rescue arrived.

  Reporting our findings to Steve and with nothing else to see, we circled the base a few times so I could take more pictures, then we set our course back to the farmhouse to find out if the survivors there had replied.

  “Inventive,” I said, impressed as I saw they’d used sheets or towels to write a message on the ground in the yard of the farmhouse. I read it out aloud as Chris concentrated on flying.

  “Ten. Safe. Low food.”

  It was a simple but concise message. Circling, I could make out ten people staring back up at us, all waving their arms above their heads. Through the binoculars, I could see joy, hope and excitement on all the faces.

  My summary was an easy one to make, from what I was seeing below me.

  “They seem to be all ages; I would guess they’re the owners, by the look of them. They look like good guys to me. What do you think?” When he agreed, as I’d expected him to, I reached for the two messages Chris had already written. After reading them both, I selected the one informing them we would try to reach them as soon as we could and rolled it up to push into another water bottle we’d finished for this very purpose.

  “Why don’t we drop them the food we’ve brought with us as well?” Chris suggested. “It’s not a lot, but if they’re running low, it’s better than nothing.”

  I didn’t need to reply it was a good idea, because it clearly was. Twisting in my seat, I reached over to grab Chris’s pack, in which we’d placed a few tins and other foodstuffs to keep us going, if for some reason we were forced to make an emergency landing and had to wait for rescue to arrive, or in the worst case make it
back to the castle on foot. Removing the extra ammunition he had in there, and a few other items which I left on the back seat, I pulled the bag over, laying it on my lap. After putting the bottle in, I zipped it closed. It was clearly too big to fit through the small window, so the only way to deliver it was to open the door and drop it as we flew over.

  “Aim for the field in front of the house,” I instructed Chris. “If this thing lands on someone’s head, it’ll kill ’em and that won’t help much.”

  Smiling in reply, I waited with one hand holding the bag and the other holding the door of the plane open, struggling against the buffeting of the wind while at the same time watching our progress out of the window. Dropping a bag from a moving plane is clearly a skill taught through practice, as I left it too late and watched helplessly as it missed where I thought it would land by hundreds of meters and it bounced through the long grass of the field by the farm, eventually coming to rest against a dry stone wall.

  “Good shot,” Chris said sarcastically as he dipped his wing and we both looked down at the three people running towards where it had ended up. “I hope they like dented cans and burst open packets because I think that’s all they’ll get from the rucksack.”

  I looked at him and was about to reply haughtily in an attempt to defend my poorly aimed bag drop when I saw the cheeky grin on his face. Choosing to reply with a one-word answer and not wanting to open myself up to any more friendly ribbing, I turned my attention to the map instead; tracing my finger over our intended route and looking out of the windows.

  “When do you think we’ll be able to get to them?” Chris asked five minutes later.

  “I don’t see why we can’t attempt it in the next few days, mate,” I replied with a slightly distracted air, because my main concentration was on my continuous scanning of the ground below us as I searched for any other signs of life. I looked at the map on my lap and mentally planned the route between Warwick Castle and their location. “We know where they are, and I think we can avoid any big towns and villages if we choose country lanes. It’ll take a fair few hours, I suppose, but it’s nothing we haven’t done before.” I chuckled as my reply, so confidently condensed, registered in my brain. “Listen to me. I’m sounding like a bloody expert now, confidant we can navigate through miles of zombie-infested wasteland with no more trouble than going for a Sunday drive to a pub. The world has indeed gone mad.”

  “But, Tom, that is the point,” Chris replied, his voice now serious. “We’re doing amazingly well. Yes, we lost poor Daniel to those bastards and Marc has now got to come to terms with his injury, but apart from those devastating events, we are doing ridiculously well if you consider the situation. We have a secure location stocked with enough supplies to keep many more people than we currently number for a long time. Our safety is more than looked after by Steve and his men, let alone what we can do ourselves. The knights are enough to scare anyone to death on their own. And now look at us, flying around the country investigating the locations of other known forces at the behest of what remains of our armed forces, while they themselves are securing a land base on the Scilly Isles. And on our first attempt, we find another group who we’re now talking calmly about offering help to. It’s as if we’re playing the heroes in some Hollywood movie or something.” He waved his arm in front of him, indicating the countryside below us. “How many more will we help before some sort of normality gets restored? That’s if it ever does.”

  I thought about what he’d said for a few moments before responding, “Yes, mate. I think someone out there has been looking after us all.” I laughed mirthlessly before continuing. “A few weeks ago, when this all began, all I could think about was keeping my family alive for just the next few minutes, let alone the day. Now we’re acting like the veterans I suppose we are, if you think about what we’ve all been through. I suppose the way I’m looking at it now is that, currently, my family are safe. We have the confidence and hard-won experience gained through doing and surviving things not one of us would have dreamed we were ever capable of, and as long as the risks are acceptable, we owe it to humanity to try and reach out to others. Take you, for example. If, by fate, we hadn’t spotted you as we passed, I hate to say it, but you would probably be dead by now. Don’t you owe it to humanity to pay it forward?”

  “Absolutely, mate,” he replied, his voice cracking with emotion. “Don’t you think I’m not thankful every day for being saved by you? Now I’ll get to hold my child in my arms, and I’ll never be able to pay any of you back for that. Who knows what the world will be like in the months and years to come? But at least now I have a chance to live in it. And yes, I agree absolutely we do need to ‘pay it forward’ as you say. Now that we’re so secure, what would it make us if we didn’t try to help others?” Regaining his composure, he continued, “Now that’s enough of me maudlin like an old woman, let’s concentrate on getting back and on firm ground again.” On our route, we circled a few likely looking properties where we thought survivors might be sheltering, but we found no more signs of life. Choosing not to fly over the city of Birmingham again, I’d set a course to fly us over the numerous towns and villages that surrounded the city, not in the hope of looking for survivors, but to try to see how many zombies they still held. Some looked reasonably empty, so we marked them as potential places we could gather supplies from in the future.

  With the stall warning bleeping its familiar alert as I floated above the runway, I performed my best landing of the day and the plane gently made contact with the ground.

  “Welcome back and nice landing,” Shawn’s voice sounded in our ears when he could see we were safely down and taxiing back to the main buildings. “We’ve cleared one of the hangers so we can secure the plane inside it, so if you follow Steve, he’ll show you where to go; or do you want to refuel first?”

  “Have you got the pumps working?” I asked. “If so, then yes, let’s refuel now. It’ll save time when we go up again.”

  “Of course,” he replied with a sarcastic tone. “You may be the fancy fly boys, but where would you be without us mere mortals to keep everything working? Anyway, the tanks look almost full, so I don’t think running out of avgas is something we’ll need to worry about.” He went silent for a moment. “I’ve just told Steve to stop at the refuelling point, so just follow him.”

  Twenty minutes later, we had the plane refuelled and pushed into the hanger, which we locked with a padlock Willie produced, and were heading home.

  The evening turned into a celebration of another day of not only surviving but achieving another small victory against the world outside the safety of the walls. I suppose the existence we found ourselves living, any excuse for one was grabbed. Those who were rostered for lookout duty during the night didn’t need to be told to limit their alcohol intake and they just sipped their drinks; although they still joined in just as enthusiastically as the rest of us. Chris and I were luckily excused guard duty by universal agreement, our efforts of the day generously deemed enough to warrant us a night off. Unfortunately, and probably due to the relief of surviving, I partook a little too much; it took Becky to help me to bed that night, helped by Willie, far more amused than she was.

  The exuberant mood of the night before was replaced by silence at breakfast in the morning. Cups of coffee, Paracetamol and silence seemed to be the cure that most people needed. Most sat in companionable silence and mutual suffering as we waited for Steve to complete the radio call he’d scheduled with the fleet.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Scilly Isles

  Captain Digby was exhausted as he stood on the quay at Hugh Town, waiting for the boat to arrive that was going to ferry him out to the frigate that still stood in the bay. The outgoing tide had now washed away the remaining bodies that had been blocking it. While they’d been fighting in the town, the macabre pile of the undead had been cleared using grappling hooks thrown from some of the smaller, more manoeuvrable boats that had accompanied them. One b
y one, the by now bloating bodies had been pulled into the more open water of the harbour, where they had slowly drifted away on the tide.

  He’d just declared successful the mission to clear St Mary’s, the largest island in the Scilly isles. Successful, but in his opinion costly.

  Twenty men and women under his command had fallen to the zombies and he blamed himself for every one of those deaths, knowing it was down to his inexperience in dealing with a threat that no amount training or knowledge had prepared him for. Unfortunately, the first few that had been bitten had been treated by their medics against all the advice they’d been given by those who had already fought them. They’d believed that their skills could save their friends and colleagues, despite what they’d been told. The results were as inevitable as they were shocking for those first experiencing it and more had been bitten when the patients had turned and attacked.

  The initial confidence they’d felt after landing had soon disappeared, because no matter how good Captain Digby’s tactics were, zombies kept managing to get close enough to attack. Ammunition soon ran out as entire magazines were emptied in panic to fell just one. Despite regular resupplies from the helicopters, whose coverage from their guns became impotent in the small streets and houses of the towns and villages, it soon became apparent that the best way to deal with zombies close up was to use the hastily manufactured melee weapons they all carried with them.

  Through hard earned and costly experience, though, the rookie zombie fighters adapted and learned.

  After witnessing the way the first few had turned when they were being treated, and not wanting anyone else to perform the task, Captain Digby had himself ended the lives of those bitten with a single shot to the head. A task that took a small piece of his soul away every time he pulled the trigger.