by Craig Jones
“Stay close to me and everything will be fine,” I told him. I helped him to his feet and began to walk towards the exit. We were the last two on the bus. David walked down behind us, and I was more than conscious of the gun he held. The two women, Carla and Angela were sitting in the front seats and Charles still stood at the top of the steps.
“Now I see why you were checking your watch,” I said to him.
“You’re a clever boy,” he told me. “So clever in fact that I think we’ll keep you two as our hostages. I can’t see the general sacrificing his little pet!”
“I couldn’t care less about him,” Rogers boomed from just outside the bus. “But you’re not taking this bus.”
Charles grabbed Robbie and wrapped one hand around his throat, pulling the child in front of himself as a human shield. He placed the barrel of the gun against the Robbie’s temple.
“Back off, or the kid dies!” Charles shrieked.
David lifted his gun and aimed it at my face.
“Don’t be a hero,” he told me.
I felt the bus rock a little to the left as Rogers stepped on board.
“So this was your plan all along? Lull us into a false sense of security by turning up unarmed?” Rogers said, his hands empty and raised in front of him. I could see the clip at the top of his holster was unlatched.
“We didn’t expect to go back with such a bounty or to be so far from home, but we’ll take it.”
Robbie looked terrified, but Rogers had the time to wink at the child.
“Don’t worry, everything will be--”
Rogers’ right hand moved with the speed of a gunslinger. The pistol was clear of the holster before I realized he had moved and then his weapon boomed and a red circle appeared in the middle of Charles’ forehead. The hand around Robbie’s neck grew limp, and Charles tumbled backwards over the steering wheel. Behind me, David threw his gun to the floor and lifted his hands in surrender. Rogers stared at him but spoke to Robbie.
“Just get off the bus, boy.”
Robbie jumped down off the bus, and then the gun flared again and David spun in the aisle before crumpling to the floor. Carla and Angela shied away from Rogers’ stare. The echoes of the first two shots were still ringing around my head and my bowels felt loose with fear when he calmly executed the two females with quick shots to their heads. Their bodies fell forward at his feet, and I wanted to join them. My legs felt like badly set jelly but Rogers still looked calm, relaxed and in control.
“My, oh my,” he said. “As if fighting the dead wasn’t bad enough.”
34
The morale of the convoy could not have dipped any lower. Soldiers and civilians alike became downbeat and pessimistic. Progress was slow and petty arguments broke out on a daily basis. The spirit of camaraderie that had developed in our mutual desire to stay alive dissolved and was replaced by glances of mistrust and an attitude of paranoia. I kept my head down and focused on Robbie’s well-being. The boy was on the verge of a break down and I couldn’t say I blamed him. In just a few days he’d seen the zombie that his father had become shot in the head and then almost suffered the same fate himself at the hands of a villainous interloper.
On the surface, the plan implemented by Charles and his crew was clever. When the enemy is so clearly defined, surely all human contact was going to be friendly, wasn’t it? Every man, woman, and child was now a kindred spirit, united against the living dead, determined to survive the zombie apocalypse to keep our race alive. Or so we thought. And of course, they had been welcomed into the fold. I guessed they’d failed to foresee the potential of one of their group members being killed, but they didn’t react in an over-the-top way. They behaved as people who, no matter what, wanted to be saved. They behaved just like the rest of us. They mucked in when work needed to be done, and they kept a low profile until they decided to act on their plan. And what a simple plan it was too. Drive away in the middle of the night with half of our supplies while most of the convoy slept. By taking one of the buses, they could have rammed their way through the road blocks we’d set up to keep the Romeroes out; that was for sure. They hadn’t reckoned with General Rogers. He’d been watching them closely, even if they never saw him doing it. And he’d executed them without a moment’s hesitation. And unlike when he fatally injured their friend Steve, he hadn’t even wasted a sheet to wrap their bodies in. He’d left them on the road side, a gift for a hungry zombie.
The bus had already begun to reek of the putrid stench of unwashed bodies. We ate in our seats, we slept in our seats, and we travelled in our seats. There were no showers, no change of clothes. Personal hygiene was no longer a priority. Now life was all about staying alive. But under the smell of human sweat was the aroma of death. The metallic tang of gunpowder hung in the air. And the bitter aftertaste of spilt blood refused to go away. The front seats just behind our driver were now left empty. They were deeply soaked with blood and the charred holes that the bullets made after they’d exited the brains of Carla and Angela, served as a stark reminder of how quickly death could steal any of us away. Red stains on the floor of the bus also clearly marked where Charles and David had fallen. Mooney kept us informed every time he found another dribble of Charles’ brain on his seat, across his dashboard, or dripping from the steering wheel.
Robbie thanked the general for saving him.
“It doesn’t mean I like him,” he told me when we were alone.
“You don’t have to like him,” I said supportively. “We both just have to realize that he’s a key part of us staying alive. That first time, in Usk, we only had each other. Now at least we’ve got the guys with guns on our side.”
“They’re only on their own side,” he told me.
I had no argument against that. Orders came first, second and third. Rogers would give up each and every one of us, his men included, if it got him to the Channel Tunnel and across to France with his vial of cure. Death before dishonor. Follow orders no matter the risk. It was the soldier’s code and I’d come to understand it very quickly. I felt it was only a matter of time before Rogers introduced some sort of martial law to make sure we were all kept in check and that he was able to fulfill his orders. He wouldn’t want another attempted heist. It would look bad for him if a group of the people he said he was trying to save absconded with the food supplies for the whole convoy. He had to understand that while his men had the guns, the civilians had the numbers and that could make for an uncomfortable standoff.
I was also troubled by how easily I’d pulled my hand away from Chris Garlick as he’d sprinted for his life. There had been no moment of doubt, no decision to be made. He knew what I’d done, and he was going to spill to the general. The bullet would have been through the back of my skull before the words had finished coming out of the sniper’s mouth. At least I knew that if push came to shove and I had to do something drastic to save Robbie and myself, then at least I had it in me. I still struggled to force the guilt from my head, especially when I overheard other soldiers saying what a good guy he had been, what an asset to the convoy his shooting skills were, but I could just about live with it. After all, if I really wanted to face up to my guilt I just had to look around me. To recognize the fear on the faces of everyone I travelled with. To watch out of the window of the bus as we drove past another family butchered in their car, throats torn open, flesh chewed off their bones. To look at Robbie. Orphaned, alone at the end of the world with the person who had caused it all to care for him. It was as if he was being babysat by the Devil.
With every mile that brought us closer to London, we encountered more and more blocks in the road. Most were minor, and we were able to shift them from our path quickly. Only twice did we have to deviate from the motorway. We saw no zombies but early one morning, the troops did have to open fire. Breakfast rations were being handed out from the luggage store under the bus when the orders came for us all to get back on board.
I heard one of the soldiers call out.
> “They’re alive, sir. Carrying a white flag.”
“I don’t care if they’re carrying the Crown jewels. Warning shots, now.”
The soldiers opened fire and the approaching group of five or six people reacted by shouting louder and waving their flag more vigorously. Rogers responded by ordering his men to aim a lot closer. That soon had the small band retreating in fear for their lives. The buses moved on and breakfast was served late.
While we were eating, Rogers called everyone together.
“We’ve lost radio contact with High Command so we’re running blind,” he informed us. This was news no one needed to hear. We’d hit rock bottom and to many of us, this meant we were never going to pick ourselves back up. But Rogers, ever the motivator, even had a way of turning this situation to his advantage.
“But that does not stop us! We know our goal. We know where we must go. We have come this far without any help and we will achieve…”
I tuned him out. Robbie, who had been standing next to me, had turned and walked back towards our bus. I followed him and caught up with him when he took a seat on the curb at the side of the bus.
“You okay?” I asked him.
“No,” he said honestly.
“I’m sorry. I know what it feels like to lose parents. You can talk to me.”
“I haven’t lost them both,” he said angrily. “Dad has gone but Mom is still out there somewhere.”
Jenny!
I hadn’t thought of her all at all. Robbie had never mentioned her during the whole time we were in the stadium. From what Nick had told me, she had left their lives forever, unable to deal with the guilt of Danny’s death. She had been the one to encourage him to rescue the people from the village. Nick’s eternal gratitude for my having saved his family meant I was a permanent presence in their family life, and she hadn’t been able to handle it so she left them. I didn’t even know where she had gone and wasn’t sure Robbie knew either.
“Do you know where your mom is?” I asked.
“She moved in with my grandparents, somewhere near London. I went to stay there once. It was nice.”
“Do you remember where it was?” I asked him, thinking that if we passed through the town then maybe there would be a group of survivors like us. Maybe Jenny would be amongst them. If we came close enough to the town, then I’d do everything I could to try to find out if she was still alive. I didn’t hold out much hope. Like the rest of the people spread out across Britain, Jenny would have been living on borrowed time. Unfortunately, it was a countdown I had started.
“Of course I remember,” he said defiantly. “I’m not some baby. It’s called Burgess Hill.”
I just nodded. I didn’t need to tell him what I was thinking. Even as the words fell from his lips, I was struck by the thought that she too was almost certainly already dead. Or undead.
35
“This is not a good place to stop,” I heard Rogers tell Bateman as we shuffled off the bus. We’d made rapid progress and were closing in on London. The use of the motorbikes was paying huge dividends but meant we were using more gas than we had expected.
“Sir, we need fuel. With this many cars and trucks on the road, now is a perfect time. We don’t want to be doing this anywhere near a major city,” Bateman suggested.
He was right. The motorway was clear but dozens of vehicles littered the highway. There had been no crash and there were no blockages on the road, but each and every one of them was empty. No dead bodies, no hungry zombies. The last exit off the motorway had been some miles back, and a sign told us that the next exit for Slough was still some three miles away. Empty and silent fields sat on one side of the road. Off in the distance, we could see the occasional isolated farmhouse. If anything came from that direction, alive or undead, then the soldiers on watch would easily spot them. On the other side of the road was a small copse of trees and then more grassland. If there was a middle of nowhere this close to the capital, then we had found it.
“Okay,” Rogers shouted. “Toilet break. As quickly as possible. Anyone who has siphoned gas before, help my men. I want sentries on all sides with binoculars. Keep alert!”
When it came to toilet breaks, most of the men in the convoy simply relived themselves at the side of the road. The time for niceties like finding a toilet block in a gas station or having modesty around each other had long since passed. The women, though, moved towards the trees before Bateman halted them.
“Let’s not take risks,” he told them pleasantly as he drew his gun. The woods were not very deep and he quickly scouted the area before telling the women to carry on.
“Matt! Robbie! How about you two help me get some diesel for the buses?” he called out when he saw us. I expected Robbie to refuse and want to go back to the bus, but he surprised me by agreeing. The sun was high in the sky, but the day remained chilly. Robbie had his blanket slung over his shoulders, and I’d managed to find a thicker green coat in with the Army supplies. Robbie and I carried the jerry cans while Bateman moved from truck to truck, tapping the deep fuel reservoirs as he went. Finally one made a dull thud rather than the tinny resonance he’d been encountering.
“Here we go,” he said, unraveling a long section of plastic tubing. He unscrewed the fuel cap and fed the pipe down. He passed me the end of the tube and I sucked the diesel upwards and just managed to get the end into the canister Robbie held in place before the gas filled my mouth.
“So how are you two doing?” he asked.
Robbie shrugged, his standard answer for any question from people he was still unsure of. I decided to take a chance.
“We’re okay, but Robbie is worried about his mother. She lives in a place called Burgess Hill. We’re going to drive not far from there.”
Bateman quickly swapped the tubing from Robbie’s canister to mine before it overflowed. I had expected him to say the likelihood of her being alive was low, but I underestimated him. I guess he understood more about Robbie’s situation than I gave him credit for.
“We can’t make any wild detours,” he told the boy. “But I promise you, if we have to go through that town, we’ll check for her. How does that sound?”
Robbie smiled. It wasn’t broad and it didn’t reach his eyes, but Bateman’s words gave him hope.
“Now you get back on the bus,” Bateman said as the last of the diesel dripped out of the truck’s tank. “Matt and I will carry this back.”
“Thank you, sir,” Robbie said and was gone.
“Will I find it on the map?” Bateman asked me.
“Sorry?” I replied, confused. I screwed the caps back on to the tops of the jerry cans.
“Burgess Hill. Is it a proper town or just a bread crumb on the map?”
“It’s big enough, I guess,” I said.
“Okay, leave it with me. What we find there might not be what he wants but at least he’ll know.”
“Thanks, I--”
“Remakes! Five of them!”
The yell of the soldier and the subsequent burst of gunfire cut me off.
“Leave the fuel,” Bateman instructed as he drew his sidearm. “Get everyone back on the buses and shut the doors.”
I ran towards the transport as more soldiers joined in the shooting spree. Most of the men were already clustered around the buses, but some of the women were still off in the woods.
“Come on,” I shouted as they began to emerge from the undergrowth and slowly climbed back over the roadside crash barriers.
“One down!”
“Got one!”
The troops picked off the zombies one by one as they charged across the fields towards us. I imagined that General Rogers was cursing the fact that his best marksman Chris Garlick was already dead, a chew toy for a zombie back at Bath University.
“One left!” I heard someone shout.
“Get him!”
“Weapons jam!”
Suddenly panic engulfed the soldiers, and they began to spray bullets inaccurately.
“NO!” Bateman bawled. “You’ll hit the civilians!”
The women screamed and began to run for the bus and the zombie leapt at them. This time it didn’t need balletic grace. Instead, it ploughed into them like a bowling ball, brining four or five of the group to the floor with it. As they tried to clamber to their feet, it kicked and lashed at them with its hands until Bateman ran into the midst of the melee and fired a single accurate shot into the downed zombie’s brain. Blood spurted out and drenched one of the women. Her hair, face and clothes were splattered with a crimson mush of brain and bone. As saturated with gore as she was, she shook herself and began to run for the bus.
“Hold it right there!” Rogers told her and the other four women who’d been dragged to the floor. “Check them for scratches and bites!”
Soldiers advanced on them and started to look them over.
“What do you mean scratches?” asked the woman plastered in blood. “I thought it was only--”
“I’m not taking any chances,” the general told her dismissively.
Some of the women began to sob.
“Three, with bites, one scratched,” Davis announced and then pointed at the bloody woman. “But she’s clear!”
She quickly forgot about her thoughts on scratches and ran for her bus when Rogers signaled for her to move.
The four remaining women clung to each other. Suddenly the men began to disembark the bus and began to jostle the soldiers.
“You can’t just shoot them!” one of the men shouted.
The soldiers’ natural instincts took over and they aimed their weapons in the direction of the growing mob.
“You’re right,” Rogers said calmly. “But soon they will change and they will attack us. So I’ll give them a choice. They can walk away or we can end it for them. If you want to become one of those things, be my guest.”
