The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4)

by Luke Duffy

  She nodded, knowing full well that their chances of discovering serviceable vehicles that were capable of carrying them to the coast was extremely slim at best.

  “There’s room enough for ten passengers if we squeeze them in,” he continued. “I suggest you pick the weakest members of your group to go.”

  “And what about the rest?”

  “Tina,” Stan said and needing her to look at him. She turned and stared back into his unblinking, cold eyes. “Not baggage. Do you understand? Only choose those who are likely to survive the journey.”

  She understood completely. There were a few people amongst them who were too weak or injured to walk, and there were others that were unlikely to survive the coming hardships of a forced march in cold weather and with virtually no food or medical supplies. Stan was making it clear that he and his men were not there to carry people and that the survival of the fittest would be the deciding factor of who would get to travel in one of the vehicles. However, she wondered what Stan expected her to do with the men and women who were not likely to make it to the coast, but she dreaded to ask his advice.

  Tina shivered and rubbed her palms over the jacket covering her upper arms. She was cold and hungry, tired and losing hope just as rapidly as the rest of the disheartened survivors that were all clustered together behind her and waiting for her to lead them to safety. They had lost a lot of people during the evacuation, and now it seemed that the majority of the militia, along with Al and Tommy, had become more regretful statistics in the fight against the dead.

  “We’d better get ready then,” she sighed, turning to head towards her people to begin preparations for the move out.

  Something caught her eye from far off in the distance. A shimmering light streaked across the dark sky and left a glowing trail in its wake. For an instant she thought it may have been another flare from whoever was still clinging to life down in the base, but she quickly realised that it was not the case. The object was far too high to be a flare, and it was travelling in the wrong direction. Instead of going upwards, it was plummeting down towards the ground.

  “Meteor?” she asked, aware that Stan had also noticed it.

  “More likely a satellite,” Stan replied with a shrug as the object broke into a number of pieces, each creating its own shimmering tail of sparks. “A lot of the ones in low orbit will have already come down with no one to maintain and correct their positions. There’s probably still a few of them floating around up there.”

  “Even the things we put into space are falling apart,” Tina grumbled, feeling despair beginning to surge within her.

  “Think of it as an omen, if you’re that way inclined. A good one of course.”

  Despite their situation, she suddenly felt small and insignificant in comparison to the scale of the universe. It had been a long time since she studied the night sky, and it was something that she had pretty much forgotten about. In the old days, before the dead began to walk, she used to sit and watch the stars and the vast space above her for hours, reminding herself that her problems and concerns were petty in comparison to the immensity of the heavens. It had been one of her ways of dealing with issues and finding a perspective. Now she was being reminded that, although she and her people had suffered great trials and losses and still had more to come, they were trivial matters and would make absolutely no impact on the continued existence of the universe and time.

  “Time to get these people moving,” she grunted, and turned away.

  She went to find Paul. With Greg dead, Flash wounded, and Al and Tommy missing, he was the only person left that she could now rely on to assist her. The cream of the base had perished over the years with the majority of them being lost in the last twenty-four hours. All that was left were the young, weak, and old. There were physically fit and healthy people amongst the survivors, but they lacked the inner strength and courage to fight or assist with the tough decision making. Before the walls came down the more gentle members of the colony had their uses in the daily running and upkeep of the base. Not everyone was expected to be a soldier or a leader. Some people were just too traumatised to barely function on a day to day basis; never truly recovering through the passage of time. Some were capable of pulling themselves together and rebuilding their minds behind the walls, but never able to contemplate ever leaving the base again. It was something that was to be expected. Some people were just mentally and emotionally more robust than others.

  Now, when the struggle for survival was at its toughest, she began to wonder if there was any use for most of them at all. The best of them were gone, leaving only the needy and infirm. She checked herself, realising that she was beginning to think a little too much like Stan and was becoming governed by ruthless and unemotional logic, rather than compassion and humanity. They were still her people, and she would do all that she could for them.

  She found Paul. He was standing with his wife and daughter, his arms wrapped around them as they shivered and their eyes glistened in the cold air. He was speaking quietly to them, reassuring them that all would be okay even though he did not believe it himself. He saw Tina approach and stepped towards her, not wanting his family to hear anything that she had to say in case it was less than good news.

  “I need you to help me identify ten people who’ll travel ahead in the vehicles.”

  “Yeah, of course,” he nodded. “Any word on the buses?”

  “They need to be people who don’t stand a chance of making the journey on foot,” she replied, ignoring his question and hesitating before continuing. She looked at him, her eyes unblinking and becoming like stone. “But they can’t be anyone who is likely to die either.”

  There was an audible intake of breath from Paul as her words struck home. He was an intelligent man and did not need to have everything spelled out for him. She was being evasive and almost cryptic, but he understood her meaning. He looked around and immediately knew that their dwindling numbers would shrink even further over the coming days. Already he could see people becoming weak and exhausted. Sickness would soon become an added concern due to the lack of food and shelter.

  “Flash should be one of them,” he said coldly. “He’s hurt and should be in one of the vehicles. We need people like him to survive this. I suggest that the kids go, too.”

  “Agreed.”

  Paul turned around and looked back at his wife and daughter. They were both watching him with scared and expectant eyes. He wanted them to be safe and warm, but his sense of honour and duty spoke to him and would not allow him for even a moment to consider trying to find them a place on the vehicles when there was limited room and others that were less capable of making the journey. He would keep them with him, close and as safe as possible.

  He turned back to Tina and was about to say something, but they were interrupted by a flurry of activity from the other side of the clearing. They saw a number of figures sprinting towards the observation building. Tina recognised the large shape of the man they called Bull, moving fast, along with a few of the others.

  “What’s happening?” Paul asked, following after Tina as she took off towards them.

  By the time Tina and Paul had made it to the spot where they were standing, Bull and Taff were already turning away and running back towards the track.

  “Someone’s coming,” Stan hissed to them as he sprinted by, following after his men. “Get everyone stood to. Quietly.”

  “Wait,” Paul gasped, grabbing Tina by the arm as she made to follow. “Listen.”

  She stopped and cocked her head, listening into the night. From somewhere below them, coming from the suburbs, she could hear the distant grown of an engine. It sounded big and laboured, as though struggling up a steep hill. The sound was familiar to her although it was something that she had not heard in many, many years.

  “It’s a bus,” she gasped, grinning broadly and unable to contain her delight at hearing the sound. “They made it.”

  Down on the road Stan stood wait
ing and listening as the sounds of the engine continued to grow. Bull and Taff pushed forward along the roadside and through the trees with Mark, checking that the area was clear and knowing that there would be a lot of people flooding the road within the next few minutes. The last thing they needed was for a horde of the undead to come charging through the woods while they attempted to mount the vehicle.

  Further along the lane, a faint glow appeared as the headlights blazed from around a bend, growing brighter and illuminating the tunnel of trees that cocooned the approaching vehicle. Tina came to a stop beside Stan, her heart beating heavily in her chest as her hope grew and filled her to the core. She was incapable of holding back the relieved smile from her face while at the same time, trepidation began to bubble inside her as she anxiously waited to see who had made it through.

  A dark, boxy shape appeared from around the bend with its lights dazzling in the otherwise black landscape. Tina shielded her eyes but refused to turn away from the approaching bus for fear of it being nothing more than a cruel trick of the mind; a mirage sent to torment them and then suddenly disappearing again along with all their hopes.

  It grumbled towards them, struggling with the incline of the hill, and eventually coming to a stop in a hiss of brakes while the sputtering engine continued to groan and shudder, and coughing out black, nauseating clouds from its exhaust. The vehicle was a wreck. Years of mould and rust covered almost every surface, but there was a lot of damage that was clearly more recent. Nearly every window was broken, and the front of the bus was covered in dents and scuffs with huge streaks of blood coating the paintwork and cracked windshield. Dark shapes moved inside, the sound of heavy footsteps and the lamenting groans of tired and hurt people drifting out from the gaping windows.

  The doors opened and a large figure stepped out onto the asphalt, his heavy boots scuffing against the road’s surface as his legs, drained of strength and energy, struggled to lift his feet. It was Al. He looked unsteady, exhausted, and ready to collapse as he swayed and fought to remain upright.

  Tina and Paul rushed towards him, happy to see him but concerned about his state. They could not help but consider the fact that he may have sustained serious wounds during the battle for the depot.

  “Water,” he gasped, as Tina tucked herself under his huge arm, supporting him as they staggered to the side. “Get us some water.”

  More of the people on board began to step out, looking just as drained and dishevelled as Al. There were fewer of them than had started out, and many of them were needing to be helped, either through fatigue or injuries. Tina watched them and instinctively knew that some of them were nursing bites.

  “How many?” she asked, helping Al around to the front of the vehicle as Paul went in search of water and what medical equipment he could find.

  “Twelve,” Al grunted, dropping into a squatted position with his back resting against the blood-stained grill of the bus. “We lost twelve, and we’ll lose more soon.”

  “Where’s Tommy?

  He slowly shook his head, turning away with regret and shame.

  “He’s here, but he won’t make it.”

  Shaking her head and taking a step back, Tina hoped that she had misheard or misunderstood him, but when Al turned back to face her again, she no longer needed any confirmation. Her body sagged abruptly as though a valve had just been opened and the air was escaping. Her heart skipped a number of beats, and her guts twisted themselves into tight knots as she placed a hand over her forehead. She turned away and then looked back at him. She did not know what to do. She shuffled her feet as though she was going to climb aboard the bus, but then stopped and stepped back towards Al, raising her hand again and covering her mouth. Every negative emotion that the human body was capable of feeling was attacking her all at once. An indescribable pain radiated out through her body, emanating from her misfiring heart as the news sunk in and tore at her soul and began devouring her from within.

  She turned and headed towards the survivors that were now descending the hill, leaving Al to be taken care of by Paul and the others. Taking in a long, deep breath, she composed herself and walked over towards the two SUVs that were now sitting at the roadside, ready and waiting for the move out. The news about Tommy had sent her mentally and emotionally spiralling down into a dark chasm, but she needed to stop herself from falling before she was incapacitated with grief.

  Stan climbed aboard, his boots crunching against the cubes of shattered glass, spent bullet cases, and the piles of bloodied dressings that littered the floor. The interior had the distinct and unmistakable smell of battle. The aroma of cordite lingered in the air, mixed with the pungent stench of blood, vomit, and urine. It was a fragrance that was as familiar to Stan as was the scent of roses to a florist. Charlie was in the driver’s seat, his head and arms resting against the wheel.

  “You look like you could do with a brew,” Stan noted. “That bad, eh?”

  Charlie looked up at him and nodded.

  “Yeah,” he wheezed back at him. There had obviously been a lot of screaming and shouting going on, with the fumes from all the firing adding to the noxious air and playing havoc upon the man’s chest. “We lost Trev and about half of the troops from the base. We’re out of ammo, too. Not a single round left.”

  “Sorry to hear that, mate,” Stan replied, trying to sound a little less autonomous than usual as he looked around at the condition of the vehicle. “Trev was a good bloke, and he’ll be missed. How did you manage to get through?”

  “By the skin of our teeth. It was nothing short of a miracle that we made it. Those things were in their thousands and all over us.”

  “The rest of your guys okay?”

  “Yeah, the rest are good. Bryn lost his leg again, along with the radio, but that was all. What about you lot?”

  “A few cuts and bruises,” Stan shrugged. “Who’s the new face with the dog?”

  He nodded to one of the people who had climbed out from the bus. The man was standing to the side, a thick, bushy beard covering much of his face beneath a mass of unkempt and wavy hair hanging down from his head. He watched the people around him, saying nothing but paying attention to everything with his beady eyes. His dog was sitting by his side and doing the exact same thing.

  “A friend of Al’s from the city. If it wasn’t for him, we’d all be dead.”

  Charlie stood up and stepped out from the driver’s nook, brushing back his white hair with his blood and grime stained hands. He deliberately left the engine running, not wanting to run the risk of it never starting back up for them when the time came.

  “What about this thing?” Stan asked, looking around at the wreckage of the bus. It looked as though it had been hauled through a huge meat grinder. “Will it make it?”

  “Doubtful. It keeps stalling, and there’s virtually no power left in the old thing. Once we have everyone loaded up, it’ll struggle on the flat, never mind the hills.” He looked at Stan and nodded, realising that he needed to remain positive despite the odds that were being stacked against them. He smiled fleetingly, unable to mask his exhaustion and weariness. “We’ll try our best.”

  A line of dark figures walked in silence, herded by Paul and the remnants of his troops as they were guided towards the bus. Within minutes, what ammunition they had left was redistributed amongst the few capable and unwounded militia that remained, ensuring that everyone had some means to continue the fight. The wounded were treated and the bite victims were segregated, being placed at the rear of the bus where they could be monitored.

  Stan did not approve of the infected being brought with them. They were taking up space, adding weight, and using up valuable manpower and resources. They were going to die regardless, but he chose not to push the issue with Tina, and left her to make the call when the time came, placing the responsibility of caring for them on her.

  They were her people, and although he did not hold the same sentiment for them as she did, he nevertheless sympathised wi
th her and understood that she was incapable and unwilling to fast-track their inevitable demise or abandon them at the roadside.

  The vehicles were loaded and the survivors were crammed into every available space. Charlie insisted that he would continue driving in spite of his exhaustion. His reasoning was that he knew the vehicle and its abilities, and more importantly, its inabilities. At least until they had put some distance between them and the city, he would remain at the wheel.

  “We need to go,” one of the troops stationed at the rear of the bus called forward in a flat and weary voice. “They’re here.”

  Behind them a number of figures had appeared in the road, following the sound of the bus out from the built-up area and into the fringes of the countryside. Undoubtedly there would be many more in pursuit, staggering along the rural lanes and crashing through the trees. Even over the sound of the engine the distant lament of the dead could be heard drifting through the suburbs and up into the surrounding lands. The people sitting inside the bus clung to one another, their wide and terrified eyes sparkling as they shivered against the cold that blew in through the broken windows and the fear that coursed through their bodies.

  “Let’s go,” Stan called over the radio from his SUV. “Get us out of here.”

  Old Charlie released the brake and pressed down on the pedal, the engine growing in volume, and the wheels slowly rolling forward as they began to limp away along the road, leaving the dead city and many of their own people behind.

  23

  Charlie had not been wrong. For over eight hours the dilapidated convoy had trundled towards the west, travelling at an extremely slow speed, and having to make regular stops for one reason or another. Mechanical issues, blockages in the road, and the unforgiving terrain; all added to a painfully slow and perilous journey.

  The bus was shaking itself to pieces around them, leaking vital fluids and constantly overheating. The mechanics battled to keep the vehicle on the road, but it was proving to be a near impossible task. It was difficult for a vehicle of its size and condition to negotiate a gradient that was anything more than a short, shallow slope. Even then their pace was reduced to nothing more than walking speed. Each time the vehicle came to a halt and stubbornly refused to climb a hill, the entire bus needed to be emptied, with every available hand having to push.