by Craig Jones
Captain Bateman found a set of Army fatigues for me to wear. They were slightly too big, and I had to roll up both the arms and the trouser legs. I didn’t ask about the dark stain down the side of the trousers, which I had a feeling was blood. I wondered which dead soldier they’d once belonged too. I also wondered how that soldier had died.
We’d exhausted the food supplies of the shops within the cordon and that concerned General Rogers greatly.
“We’ve got four, five, maybe more days of travelling ahead of us,” he told us. “I don’t want to be stopping every few hours to get food, not when we should be able to find everything we need nearby. Any ideas?”
“We could extend the cordon, go further afield?” one of the soldiers suggested.
“Not enough time,” came the clipped response.
“A small team could go farther afield, scavenge outside the cordon?”
“And how do you propose to carry back enough food for three hundred and fifty people?” Rogers replied, his tone implying that the private who had made the suggestion was nothing short of an idiot.
“Sir?” Captain Bateman entered the room. “We have a problem. We have about a hundred people refusing to come with us. They want to stay here.”
I couldn’t believe that Dan’s attitude had spread so quickly across the survivors. I expected ten, maybe even as many as twenty, to want to stay behind as he started looking for like-minded supporters, but I never expected him to raise over a hundred.
“Let them,” the general remarked casually, yet his face was suddenly red, flushed and angry under the peak of his cap. The scar on his forehead stood out more prominently as a result. “Makes our life easier. Less food to carry, less food to collect.”
“Sir?”
“Please, tell them they can stay. On their own.”
Bateman looked unsure, and all around me the soldiers exchanged shocked glances.
“Is there a problem, Captain? Would you like me to tell the civilians that they can stay?”
“No, sir. I was just… I wasn’t sure I heard you properly.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I stutter?” he shoved his face up and into Bateman’s.
I didn’t know what to expect next, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Rogers looked as though he was on the verge of completely losing self-control, and despite being noticeably taller than the general, Captain Bateman seemed to be shrinking before our eyes.
Bateman straightened his shoulders. “Sir. No, sir.”
“Good. Right back to the matter in hand…supplies! Any other ideas?”
I raised my hand.
“This isn’t school,” chided Chris into my ear.
“Hawkins?” Rogers called.
“Sir, there’s a supermarket not far from here. It’s on route to the motorway. If that’s the way you plan to take us, that is, sir. We’ll be driving pretty close to it… but…”
“But what? Spit it out boy!”
The entire parking lot was surrounded by zombies. There were hundreds of them, five deep, creating a human fence. They had a tidal life as they rocked back and forth in unison. Nothing was getting in or out of their cordon. Two lines of unharmed humans were organized within the perimeter. One was made up of women, children, and the elderly. They were being funneled towards the entrance of the supermarket. The other line held just men, and they were being herded around the corner, out of our site. I remembered how the zombies had pinned down the woman from the crashed car on the motorway, and how they had bitten her to convert her to one of their own. Dozens of zombies milled across the parking lot, maintaining order with snapping teeth and snarls. Slowly the line of humans being taken inside thinned and then was gone as the last one was forced inside.
“When I last passed by the supermarket, it was overrun with zombies, sir.”
It was easier to tell it that way rather than to relive the horror I’d see by being more descriptive about how the zombies had moved swiftly to hunt down a group of men who had come close to escaping. Of course, in reality they had come nowhere near reaching safety. It was as though the undead had wanted the men to make a break for it, as if they were seeking a little sport: the chance to hunt down a few humans.
“And we know what is happening to the zombies,” Rogers said. “I understand your concerns, but the threat that they hold for us is diminishing every day. They are slow. They are dying. Again. Show Bateman where it is on the map and we’ll make it our first pit stop.”
A scream from the corridor outside ended the conversation. Soldiers snatched up their rifles and dashed out of the room, not sure what to expect but picturing the worst, imagining that the zombies had finally found a way inside the stadium. I trailed along behind as they rushed into the stairwell only to stop dead in their tracks, rubber soled boots squeaking to a halt on the concrete floor.
“Oh, Jesus!” one of the soldiers said and turned away.
By the time I got near enough to see, they were already cutting her down. I don’t know where she would have found the rope, but she’d tied one end of it to the banister at the top of the stairs. The other end she’d fashioned into a noose and had looped it around her neck. Then she’d thrown herself down the four stories to her death. She swung from side to side as the soldier hacked through the cord with his knife. Her eyes were wide open. They bulged in their sockets but saw nothing. Her neck looked exceedingly long, stretched, broken.
I guessed that Bev had decided that while she didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to stay either.
13
With the emphasis shifted away from the need to scavenge for more food supplies, General Rogers’s focus moved to making sure we had enough fuel and an easy route out of the Stadium. His biggest concern were the roadblocks that had been so meticulously put into place on the streets surrounding us to make sure the Romero zombies couldn’t get in. Now they were stopping us from getting out.
“I don’t want any cars moved before they have to be,” he instructed. “The last thing we want is to roll out of here and be met with a wall of the dead.”
That was the last thing anyone wanted.
“So, I want you to have the cars in the middle of the barricades ready to go… keys in the ignition, gas in the tank, and the doors open. A small team will move ahead of the convoy and shift them out of the way as we go. We need to keep the buses moving. While they’re moving, they are less likely to be attacked, even if there are still any Remakes out there.”
Whoever was outside of the vehicles was going to be in massive danger, but Captain Bateman was sure to stress that cover would be provided at every second.
“We’ll have sets of eyes on top of the lead bus,” he said, nodding in my direction to let me know what my job was going to be. “We’ll also have armed men up there with Matt as well as in the lead troop transport. We know the buildings up to the furthest roadblock have been cleared out so if the crap hits the fan, we’ve got plenty of points to regroup at.”
They made it all sound so simple. Many of the logistical issues had been accelerated by Bev’s suicide. More and more people were opting to stay in the stadium; nearly half of the civilians were choosing not to leave. Rogers was ambivalent towards their decision but looked thunderstruck when two of the soldiers offered to stay behind with them.
“It’s your choice, men, but don’t expect any extra weapons or ammo. In fact, all you get to keep are the guns you’re carrying and the bullets in your stash. Still want to stay?”
He’d muttered the word ‘cowards’ before storming off when they both reaffirmed they wouldn’t be joining us on the convoy. No one tried to talk them out of it either. It was as though they’d deserted. As far as I saw, none of the other soldiers spoke to them again. They’d made their call and that was that. Rogers had already made the call with regard to the food supplies. The convoy was taking three quarters of what resources there were in the stadium, and the rest was to be left behind. Even as the numbers of those wanting to remain grew
, he could not be swayed to increase the rations for those staying behind.
“You’re signing our death warrants,” someone shouted to him through the crowd.
He sneered, the tip of his index finger tracing his scar.
“You signed your own death warrants when you refused to get on the buses,” he said coldly.
Captain Bateman assigned a group of us the task of siphoning as much fuel as possible. The Army’s vehicles had numerous containers that could hold liters of liquid, and eight of us set off outside to siphon gas from the abandoned cars. We started with those closest to the stadium, making sure to leave fuel in the ones we’d need to move as we shifted out.
“Make sure you don’t mix diesel with the unleaded,” Bateman warned as we brought the first containers back inside and began to fill the tanks on the three buses.
We worked our way out from the stadium, three of us drawing the gas from the cars and vans while the rest stood watch, guns at the ready. After a while, the stench of the gas made me gag, and I swapped back to surveillance. There was hardly any conversation. The division within the camp was having a profound effect, especially on the soldiers who were so used to obeying orders--particularly orders given by General Rogers.
“Smith is still a good soldier,” one of the team members said, discussing a trooper who had chosen to stay behind.
“A dead soldier isn’t a good soldier,” Chris Garlick replied.
“You really think that’s what staying behind means?”
“Without a doubt,” Chris continued arrogantly. “How long will the food last? How many rounds of ammo have they got to keep them safe as they search for more? Look, it’s the simple things like the routine of opening and closing the doors…think about how easily that could go to hell if there’s an attack while someone is out looking for more supplies. And what if they don’t find any food?”
That brought the conversation to a close as each of us considered the pain of starving to death. It made Bev’s choice seem like a sensible option.
The soldier next to me banged his fist against the car he was trying to siphon gas from.
“That’s the lot, this line is done. Let’s get this back to the stadium.”
I leaned over and picked up the jerry can. It wasn’t really heavy, but when the liquid inside sloshed about from side to side, it was difficult to carry. I heard Chris snigger as I struggled to walk a straight line and stopped. I placed the can on the floor, gave the gas a few seconds to settle and then…
I saw something move out of the corner of my eye.
“Contact!” I shouted and swiveled on my heels, so I faced back towards the roadblock. I snatched the binoculars from my belt and brought them up to my eyes, scanning the street as the soldiers dropped the containers and drew their weapons.
“Where? Where?”
“I don’t…” There was nothing there.
“Wasting our time,” Chris snarled. “Listen, kid, are you sure you should be out here?”
“I thought I saw something!”
“And what? You know ammo is at a premium, and you’d have us shoot the street up just because you thought you saw something?”
I ignored him and continued to watch the junction a hundred or so yards beyond our furthest roadblock. There was no litter on the street and the wind was no more than a light breeze.
One of the other soldiers tapped me on the shoulder and I jumped, letting out a little shriek. Chris laughed out loud.
“I saw something,” I blurted.
“Come on, we’re all jumpy. Let’s get back inside.”
“I saw something,” I repeated. “I’m sure I did!”
“We’re moving out. At worst it was a lone Romero. If it was a Remake, it would have attacked. Grab your stuff. Let’s go!”
I picked up the can and began the long walk back, sure I had seen something, just not sure what.
14
The convoy was lined up outside the stadium. At the head was an Army Jeep in which General Rogers and two soldiers were initially going to ride. Next was one of the buses, then the armored troop transport. It looked like a tank without the huge gun barrel or the caterpillar tracks, but it appeared equally impenetrable and forbidding. The thick rubber wheels were almost as tall as me, and the heavy machine gun that was mounted on the roof looked capable of cutting through brick walls with ease. This was followed by the second and third bus. Flanking these were the two final Jeeps with their light machines gun turrets. The civilians, just over ninety of them who had chosen to leave, would be crammed onto the buses. We were told to bring our blankets but nothing else. The food and spare fuel was spread out across all of the transports with plenty more room for the extra supplies we were going to collect en route.
I settled Robbie into his seat on the first bus next to Bill. They were sitting in front of Bill’s wife and daughter, Amanda and Emma, and I knew they would take care of the boy until I was able to return.
“I’ve just got this one job to do while we get out onto the clearer streets, and then I’ll be right here with you,” I told Robbie. He was as scared as I was, but just like me, he tried to hide it.
“We’re gonna be okay, you know,” I said, tucking his blanket around him so he’d keep warm.
“I…” was all he could say.
Bill sat down next to him. “Don’t you worry now, little guy,” he said. “It won’t be long and we’ll all be safe.”
“Thanks, Bill. Look, I have to get going. See you soon.”
“Be careful,” Amanda said her eyes fearful.
“Of course,” I replied, trying to sound brave.
Back in Usk during the first epidemic, Danny and I had left our safe haven to help people and that ended with two people losing their lives. Simon, the owner of the hairdresser’s shop, and my brother. Did leaving with the Army guarantee that we weren’t going to see more casualties before we reached the Channel Tunnel?
I jumped down from the bus and watched as Chris climbed a step ladder up onto the roof.
“Are you coming or what?” he asked as I looked down the ramp to where the soldiers were starting to move the cars from the first barricade. Without a word, I ascended the steps and pulled myself up onto the roof. Even without the vehicle moving, it felt unsafe up here. I felt I could lose my balance at any moment and tumble down to the concrete below. I was growing concerned that if he had the chance, Chris would give me a shove and send me on my way. I sat down and spread my feet out as wide as I could to gain more equilibrium. I scanned the route ahead of us through my binoculars and heard the stepladder being pulled into the bus as the doors hissed shut.
Up ahead, the soldiers waved their arms for the convoy to start, and we edged our way through the narrow gap they’d left as they sprinted ahead to move the next few cars. I glanced behind and up at the windows of the stadium. Faces were pressed against the glass and I wanted to shout out to them, to tell them they were making a mistake, that we all had to stick together, but I knew they wouldn’t listen. The bus rocked from side to side, and a suddenly selfish part of me was glad they weren’t coming because space below was already at a premium.
Slowly but surely, we advanced through each of the roadblocks that had been so precisely put in place. There were no signs of zombies--no Romeroes and no Remakes--and after the last Jeep cleared the final barricade, Rogers signaled for everyone to stop. The soldier driving our bus, Davis, got out and placed the ladder for Chris and me to climb down while the foot soldiers got themselves onto the buses. In addition to the drivers, each bus had three more fully armed troops ready to open fire if any zombies descended on us. Captain Bateman tipped me a nod as he joined our transport.
We worked our way out of the city, retracing the route I’d taken when I had brought Nick and his kids back towards what I thought was going to be safety for them. The roads were free of traffic and still easy to traverse. I sat on the floor of the bus and watched as Bateman read the map on which I’d highlighted the supermarket
, while he advised Rogers in the lead Jeep the best route to negotiate our way there. The bus was deathly silent as people processed the carnage and death around them and, I’d guessed, felt thankful that they had made the stadium before the full force of the zombies had hit the city.
Bodies were everywhere. It was easy to spot the corpses of people who had been killed by the creatures and the remains of the undead themselves. The human bodies were surrounded by pools of blood, now congealed to black sticky puddles. I saw a woman with no face as well as a man’s head with no torso. The undead were in equally messy states with limbs having been torn off, decaying where they had fallen, their already dry and lifeless husks desiccating to dust and being blown in the breeze. I could see adults turning away from the horrendous scene, hiding the eyes of children so their nightmares wouldn’t get any worse.
Bateman called out that we were stopping, prompting groans of concern from the evacuees.
“The general wants to check something out,” Bateman informed us as he stood up, his hand instinctively moving to the pistol at his hip. I stood up too and watched as Rogers and one of the soldiers from his Jeep sprinted across the road towards a convenience store. Guns in a ready position, they moved inside. Everyone who could see what was going on took a collective deep breath and held it. The tension, while they were out of sight, was fraught with anxiety. This was the first time anyone had seen or heard of Rogers being actively involved, and there was a moment’s panic in my mind as I pondered what would happen to the escape plan if he were struck down by the undead.
The fear induced paralysis lasted less than a minute, though the silence on the bus seemed to last much longer, before Rogers and the soldier emerged from the shop. Rogers was shaking his head, and I saw him bring his radio up to his mouth. The receiver in Bateman’s hand crackled and then Rogers’s voice could be clearly heard.
“The place has been cleared out. Our patrols didn’t get this far did they?” he asked.
