Tankbread

by Paul Mannering

  I straightened up, leaning forward onto the dashboard. Out of the dark came a man on a horse. I blinked. Riding towards me was a knight. Dressed head to toe in plate armour and riding a horse. He seemed to be in no hurry, letting the horse pick its own way through the tangle of cars. I checked my mirrors and, M16 in hand, I carefully stepped out into the road. Raising a hand, I waved. The rider pulled the horse up and checked his surroundings, looking for an ambush. ‘Hey,’ I said, doing my own look around. The dead were gathering. A mob of them were strung out and following the horse’s trail. ‘We’ve got company,’ I said.

  The knight twisted in his saddle and then turned the horse around and flicked his heels, goading it into a trot. I closed the car door and went after him on foot. The first evols found a way through the cars that blocked their way and hurried forward with renewed blood lust. The rider dropped a length of chain with a jagged metal weight, about the size of a softball, on the end. Swinging the chain in a circle parallel to the horse, he rode down on the advancing dead. The heavy metal ball whirred through the air and cleanly tore the head off a naked male. The horse reared back, and the guy kept his seat, swinging his weapon over his head and crushing skulls left and right. I caught up and braced myself on a car hood, sighting down the barrel of the automatic rifle. Squeezing the trigger until it spat fire and blinded my night vision. ‘Shit,’ I swore and straightened up. Somewhere beyond the spots dancing in front of my eyes I could hear the horse whinnying and striking its hooves on the hard asphalt road. The moans of the dead were cut short by the whirring crack of the chain and the crash of the weapon tearing into dead flesh and bone.

  I headed back to the car, Else popped up when I opened the door, her sword ready to run me through. ‘It’s me!’ I climbed in, closed the door and locked it.

  Else leaned over from the back seat and punched me in the shoulder. ‘Don’t go away with out telling me,’ she growled.

  ‘Okay,’ I started the engine. Turning the headlights on I let the SUV creep forward, easing around the traffic jam.

  Our lights illuminated a pitched battle, the knight had dismounted and now smashed and hacked at the dead surrounding him. His horse screamed and pawed at the sodden ground nearby as if telling him to get the fuck out of there.

  I hit the brakes. Opening the car door I stood on the running board, and angling the M16 down from my higher position I started dropping zombies with head shots, closing my eyes each time I fired to keep my night-vision intact.

  The knight didn’t seem bothered by the evol that sank her teeth into his arm. He just reached over with one gauntlet clad hand and jammed his fingers into her eye sockets until they popped and grey goop spurted out. With a yank he tore his arm free and drawing a sword he hacked the dead woman’s head off.

  Else left the car and sword in hand, she joined the fight. Slicing the legs out from under a dead kid she stamped her foot down on his neck, snapping it. From there she swung her blade, burying it in the oozing bulk of a zombie so obese his skin had split - great rolls of fat the colour of rotting curds heaved and wobbled when he moved. She hacked at the fat man, carving chunks off him until she exposed the dull grey bones of his spine. A final chop and he broke in half like a felled tree.

  We fought until the gun steamed and Else panted, twisting around seeking new enemies and finding none. I raised my rifle, only a precious few rounds remained. Being without a reliable weapon felt like being naked.

  Else stared at the metal clad man with open curiosity. He wiped his sword blade on the ragged remnants of a dead girl’s dress before sheathing it. Then he reached up and unfastened a strap under his helmet. Lifting it off to reveal a bearded face and long hair, greying at the temples. ‘Well met m’lady,’ he said and bowed. ‘I beg your leave to recover my steed.’ He bowed again, and went to the verge, whistling a sharp note that brought his horse at a brisk trot. Patting her on the neck, he spoke soothingly and then led the beast back to us.

  ‘Body armour,’ I said. ‘Now that’s cool.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. My weapons and those of the fair lady do not require ammunition, which I am sure you realise is going to become increasingly rare as we return to a more simple state of living.’

  Else reached out and tapped the greave on his arm. ‘They can’t hurt you because you wear metal clothes,’ she said. Sometimes I could see her working things out.

  ‘A knight of the realm wears his armour to fight for the honour of a beautiful lady,’ he said.

  ‘And what do we call you, sir knight?’ I didn’t need to see a man wearing sheet metal and speaking like something out of an Arthurian legend to know he was either a genius or a complete nutter.

  ‘Tristan, Sir Tristan of Penrose. I have a small holding in yonder forest land,’ he indicated the expanse of the Penrose State Forest to the south of the road.

  ‘If we had metal clothes, we could be safe,’ Else said. She measured Sir Tristan with her eye. ‘He’s about your size,’ she added glibly.

  We all moved at once, Sir Tristan’s sword came out, my rifle came up but Else’s blade was faster than both of us.

  ‘Wait!’ I yelled. Else’s sword tip froze an inch from the knight’s bare throat.

  Tristan raised his hands slowly, letting his sword drop to the ground. ‘You have bested this humble warrior m’lady, but I ask your mercy.’

  ‘Else,’ I warned. ‘We do not do this, we do not fuck with people!’

  ‘Indeed, fucking with people is not an honourable pursuit,’ Tristan’s voice cracked slightly.

  ‘We can get further if we take his stuff,’ Else said.

  ‘Yes we can,’ I agreed. Tristan blinked rapidly, his eyes darting to me and back to Else. ‘But just because we can do something, it’s no reason to do it.’

  ‘No reason not to either,’ Else the ever practical said, her arms tensing to deliver the killing blow.

  ‘If I may offer a solution to our impasse?’ Tristan didn’t wait for permission. ‘If you accompany me to my castle, I can provide you with armour, weapons and supplies, enough I am sure to see you on your way with good grace and enhanced safety.’

  ‘Sounds like a good deal Else, maybe we should see what he has up there?’

  I waited while she thought about it. Tristan sweated until Else drew her sword back and then sheathed it. ‘Okay, but if it’s shit I’m going to cut your head off.’

  Tristan breathed and lowered his hands. ‘Christ, you are one fucking hard-core chick,’ his noble accent evaporating as he deflated with relief.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ I said turning my rifle aside. ‘How far is your castle?’

  ‘Not far, you’ll have to walk though. No vehicle access.’

  ‘Lead the way,’ I said and we headed up into rows of tall pines that whispered as we passed through them. Dirt tracks, some wide and smooth enough to drive a car or an SUV along with ease, criss-crossed the forest. The occasional felled tree across the track with side branches whittled back to sharp stakes, however, would stop any vehicle short of a tank.

  Tristan’s castle turned out to be a palisade wall of pine logs. More like a wild west fort than a castle. The front wall ran a good hundred feet with a solid gate in the middle. The horse perked up sensing we were close to home, nuzzling at Tristan’s shoulder as he tugged at a rope. Above us, a bell rang and the gate swung open.

  ‘Welcome to Stronghold,’ he said. We went in, the gate closed behind us, and we stood in a roughly square courtyard.

  The buildings inside the wall were log cabins. Chickens scratched around in the dirt and a vegetable garden that looked like the recent rains may have come too late was marked out in one corner. Two more horses stood tethered at an open stable, and when Tristan unsaddled the horse, she immediately went to join the others, pushing her head into a bucket of water, drinking noisily.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ Tristan asked.

  ‘West of here, Woomera,’ I said.

  ‘Is it safe there?’


  ‘No.’ There was no point in lying about it.

  Tristan took us to one of the log cabins. It was quite spacious with a kitchen, living, and sleeping area to the right of the entrance. To the left was a blacksmith’s shop complete with anvil, a brick fire place and a well-kept collection of tools. A blanket curtain hung along the back wall. Else jerked it aside and warily searched the back rooms. She found a long-drop toilet, food stores, and a pile of scrap metal. Though, she explained, not all in the same room.

  CHAPTER 36

  We ate rabbit stew with Tristan. He trapped rabbits and possums in the forest and grew vegetables irrigated with rainwater and his own waste. The set up was similar to the Moore Park community, but on a smaller scale. Then we slept, listening for the moans of the dead and hearing only the calls of owls and the hiss of possums in the trees. Before dawn we awoke to the smell of corn fritters and bush-tea for breakfast. While we ate, Tristan started talking.

  ‘We came here out here all the time, the Medieval Celebration Society of New South Wales. We camped, and forgot about the real world for a while. When the epidemic started, we all came here. We brought our families and set up the defences. A close-knit community of over sixty people, it worked out really well. We liked living off the land. We had the skills to do it. For some of us the end of the modern world was a chance to return to the world we truly wanted to live in.’ Tristan pushed some more sticks on the fire. ‘Then the evols came. We thought we were ready for them. We had built the wall, sharpened our weapons and trained to fight. We were ready to defend what we had built.’

  I nodded. I’d heard versions of the same story before. People establishing a new society in the wake of the collapse of the old world, and then the undead come along and crash the party. Screaming, dying, chaos, panic and the dream is over. Then the nightmare begins anew.

  ‘We kept them at bay. We patrolled the forest, destroyed the ones we found and kept building. We were safe, people even had babies.’

  ‘I like babies,’ Else said looking around with interest. ‘Where did they go?’

  ‘Cholera, at least we thought it might be cholera. People living together, too many of them. Not enough water, the food was running out, and then people got sick. Some of them died. And…’ Tristan’s voice broke. ‘…And fights broke out over what to do with them. Our doctor, he took care of the first ones. Before they came back. Then his wife died, she was sick with cancer he said. He’d nursed her the best he could for a few months but when she passed, he couldn’t do it.’

  Else leaned forward her eyes wide. ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘She died in the middle of the night. Then she came back, she infected him. By the time the alarm was raised, they’d infected every one else in the clinic.’ Tristan waved a hand towards one of the other log buildings.

  ‘Twelve people infected, we had to slaughter them. Friends, family, children.’ Tristan shuddered. ‘It broke us, that night broke us. We were never the same after that. Within a week the first group left. Then others, all of them saying they would come back with help, or information or something.’

  ‘Well? Did they come back?’ Else demanded.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘No one ever comes back.’

  ‘He’s right, no one came back. Others died fighting the dead, or fighting amongst themselves. Some committed suicide, or got sick and died.’

  ‘How many did you put down?’ I asked, like it mattered, or could give some scope to his pain.

  ‘Fifteen, the last one this winter gone. A boy called Simon, died from a spider bite.’

  ‘Australia has over ten thousand species of spider, in seventy families. But only two can kill humans,’ Else recited.

  ‘Not now Else,’ I said. Tristan barely registered, still staring into the fire, seeing dead people.

  I broke the silence before it became too uncomfortable, ‘You mentioned some armour we could use?’

  Tristan shook himself. ‘Yeah, sure. Step into my office.’

  We went to the other end of the room, he took a short length of knotted cord and measured us. Arms, legs, and chests, all the vital bits that we didn’t want chewed on.

  After the measuring he gave me an old hoodie to wear. ‘These are chain trousers, like long shorts, they tie off below the knee, so you will need a good pair of high boots to protect your lower legs. I stepped into the metal pants and Tristan attached a pair of leather straps like braces over my shoulders. Then he took a heavy shirt of chain mail out of an oil barrel. It still smelled of oil.

  ‘Put your arms in here.’ I did and the mail slid down with a clinking melody, slithering against my body with a cold weight.

  ‘It’s heavy,’ I moved my arms and tried to imagine running in this. Else ran her fingers over the connected links.

  ‘It’s feels smooth like lizard skin.’

  ‘It will stop evol bites, swords and any flying insect with a wing-span greater than eleven inches,’ Tristan said dryly.

  ‘What about the plate mail?’ I said.

  ‘You don’t want that,’ Tristan said. ‘It’s heavy and it requires training to learn how to fight in it. Worst of all you can’t run while wearing it.’

  ‘Can you run in this?’ I said moving from foot to foot, feeling the anchor weight on my shoulders.

  ‘When a hundred zombies are on your arse, adrenaline will give you wings.’ Tristan finished strapping me into my new suit. He pulled a close fitting chain mail hood over my head and said. ‘Your hearing will be reduced, keep your eyes open.’

  I gave him a thumbs up.

  ‘You might need to help each other dress. It buckles here, and here. Drawstring around this collar, tie it off like this and tuck the ends in under the coif. That’s the hood.’ Else watched intently and nodded.

  I stood rustling slightly while Else got dressed. We selected helmets with grilled visors that covered the face. Fully kitted out, we went for a walk out in the courtyard. Else drew her sword and practised moving with the added weight.

  ‘She’s good with a sword. Did you teach her?’ Tristan said.

  I removed my helmet and pushed the coif back off my head. ‘Some of it. Mostly she’s self-taught.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ It was the question I’d been waiting for.

  ‘Sydney.’

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’ Tristan had been alone for months now. I’d met folks driven insane by solitude and fear before and he seemed to be walking close to some kind of personal abyss.

  ‘We have friends there in Moore Park.’ It was the explanation Else and I had practised. We were going to join up with the Moore Park group.

  ‘I… I can’t leave here,’ Tristan said. ‘They’ll come back. I told them all that I would stay here and wait for them to come back.’

  ‘Fair enough, if we find any members of the ahh… Medieval Celebration group? I’ll be sure to tell them you are still here,’ I said.

  ‘Tell them to come home!' I stepped sideways, Tristan’s beard flecked with sudden spit as he bellowed to the sky. 'Tell them I’ve kept the place ready for them!’

  ‘Sure thing man, I’ll tell them.’

  Else stopped fighting invisible enemies and watched us.

  ‘Yeah, you go. You go and look for others, just like everyone else.’ Tristan stomped back into the cabin and slammed the door.

  We helped ourselves to some supplies, a little corn meal, some dried meat and a single canteen of water. I took a sword too, belting it on made me feel like an extra in a B-movie. Unbarring the gate we started walking back through the pine forest. The highway was in sight when the sound of hoof-beats caught up with us.

  Tristan reined his horse in, fully armoured, sword and shield gleaming in the morning sun. He raised his helmet visor and lifting his sword in salute he declared. ‘It is time for Sir Tristan to quest for the Holy Grail! I shall see you all in fair Albion!’

  I half-waved. Else thrust her sword to the sky, ‘Yay!’ she yelled.

  Tristan dropped hi
s visor, kicked his horse and cantered off through the trees.

  ‘Wow, he is just perfect,’ Else declared.

  The SUV waited for us, the carnage of the day before starkly evident in the bright sunshine. Birds foraging in the grass verge scolded but didn’t flee when we walked past. The roar of the engine starting made us both jump a little and sent the birds leaping for the sky.

  CHAPTER 37

  We reached Sydney, driving up the highway all the way to Fairford Road where the mash-up of cars and wreckage clogged the arterial route like a heart attack. We suited up and walked the last few miles into the sprawling ruin of the city. Evols still wandered the streets so we crept around like teenagers coming in after curfew, all the old familiar terror coming back in a rush.

  ‘There are so many of them…’ Else whispered, her face grim.

  ‘Yeah, and the ones to watch out for are the bastards smart enough to talk to you.’

  I watched for lights and signals that night, the patches of humanity that still shone in the darkness. They’d always been a reassurance when I travelled in Sydney, and a concern when those precious lights went out.

  ‘We go that way,’ Else’s study of the road maps made her more reliable than my own memory. On foot the path to Moore Park was long and twisted. I took detours, checking in on buildings I knew to be occupied, checking up on the people who eked out an existence behind the barricades. Every place had been abandoned, most now filled with trash piles that teemed with rats. More than once we found blood smears up the walls and the fly blown remains of a few devoured corpses.

  The evols weren’t meant to do this. The city meat was protected by Tankbread, the geeks at the Opera House kept the supply coming and they left us alone. We left another gutted office building. The survivors torn to pieces, or scattered and now roaming the streets hunting the rest of us.

  I made Else pull her coif up and lace it tight before we stepped outside again. Wearing our armour and helmets we strode the streets of Sydney, a couple of crazy people in shark-proof suits. We avoided groups of evols, Else tugging on my arm, sensing them before I walked into trouble.