The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4)
Page 43
Al laughed and shook his head. What Tommy was saying was indeed true. There had always been a special chemistry between him and Tina, but neither of them had allowed it to develop any further than the relationship of commander and subordinate. Now, with the chance of a future and happiness, Tommy was making a good point. Maybe it was time that they both relaxed and tried to find some comfort and joy in what was left of their lives and the world around them. He loved Tina, but until now it had been the love that soldiers felt for one another, having suffered side by side through so much trial and tribulation.
“What about you? You sure you don’t want to come?”
Tommy shrugged and let out a rasping sneer.
“Don’t be daft, mate. I’m fucked, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. No, I think I’ll just sit here for a while, I suppose. Enjoy the sunshine and the sea air for a bit. It’s been a long time since I had any time to myself.”
They sat for a while longer, chatting and reminiscing on times gone by. They even managed to laugh on occasion when a particularly amusing shared memory was suddenly brought to life again. Nevertheless, Tommy was fading fast. He was becoming weaker and occasionally incoherent as his body and mind slowly died, but thankfully he no longer seemed to be experiencing any pain. Al was grateful for that small mercy. Watching his friend suffer in his final moments would have been too much for him to bear.
“You’d better get going,” Tommy finally said as he nodded his head towards the sea and the boat that was approaching for its final pick up.
Al looked at the boat. It had returned far too soon for his liking, and his time with Tommy was almost over. For a moment he felt the urge to stand up and demand that the trawler turn back until he was ready, wanting to spend every minute that he could with his friend. He turned to Tommy, about to plead with him one last time to go with them out to the ferry. At least there he would be warm and comfortable in his final hours.
“Tommy, you don’t have to…”
Tommy was moving and wriggling his arms as he began slipping out from his assault vest and armour. He pulled it away and dropped it all in the sand beside him before unclipping his belt and the remainder of his equipment.
“Here, you might need this. There isn’t much left, but you need every bullet. I don’t. I just need one.” Tommy grunted, giving over his ammunition and rifle to Al, but keeping hold of his pistol and the lone round that he had already sitting in the chamber.
Al looked down at the pistol in his hand and understood. When he was ready, Tommy would turn the gun on himself to prevent the virus from having the pleasure of turning him into one of the walking dead.
“You sure about this?” Al asked. “This is what you want?”
“Yeah,” Tommy replied.
He leaned his head back and rested it against the frosted wall of the information centre.
“It’s what I want. Get yourself out to the ship, mate, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine here.”
Al watched him for a moment. He wanted to say something, but he knew that his words would only fall from his mouth in an inaudible slur of vowels if he tried. His throat was swollen, and he was finding it difficult to swallow. He felt weak and helpless, sick to his stomach, and his energy was rapidly flowing from his limbs as grief surged through his body and filled him to the core. He leaned over and grabbed Tommy, pulling his limp body in close and thrusting his arms around him in a tight hug. It would be the last time that he would see his friend, and a simple handshake would not have been sufficient.
“I love you, mate,” Al sobbed into his shoulder. “I fucking love you.”
“I know, buddy. It’s okay,” Tommy replied weakly while rubbing and patting Al across his broad back. “I love you, too. Now get yourself out of here, and don’t make a big deal of it. Remember what I said; look after them, and be the man that Tina needs. Promise you’ll do that for me.”
“I will,” Al replied in a croaky whisper while giving Tommy a final squeeze.
He climbed to his feet and scooped up Tommy’s rifle and equipment, giving him a final nod before turning away and heading for the jetty where the boat was already loaded with the last of them and waiting on him.
“You take good care of yourself, Al,” Tommy called after him.
Al could not bring himself to look back, but instead raised his hand in acknowledgement while he trundled through the soft sand, his legs feeling heavy and his body shaking uncontrollably as his head began to spin all the more.
Tina watched him approach as she stood waiting on the pier. She had said her goodbyes to Tommy and made a point of leaving him be, allowing him to spend his final hours with his best friend. At that time, they needed one another more than they needed her, but she was fully aware that in the coming days she and Al would need one another more than ever as they both came to terms with the devastating loss of Tommy.
He reached the boat and refused to meet anyone’s gaze as he climbed aboard. He was the last to arrive, with the beach now almost completely abandoned except for Tommy. Without a word, he jumped up onto the foredeck and stood at the bow and watched the distant shape of his friend as the juddering fishing trawler slowly pulled away from the jetty. In a final farewell, before the boat made its turn to head for open water, Al raised his arm and waved in a closing salute to his friend.
Tommy faded into the distance, but he would never fade from Al’s mind.
26
It was five days later when a vibrating hum rippled through the hull of the ferry, causing the windows to rattle lightly in their corroded frames and loose objects to jiggle their way across tables and crash to the floor. The engines were running, and the sighs of relief and jubilation from all on board could be heard over the steady thrum of the massive pistons as they pounded away in the bowels of the ship.
Paul had needed to more or less strip the engines down to their component parts, but he had somehow managed to make them work again. With the help of Steve, Mark, and the other mechanics, and while the remainder of the survivors toiled endlessly to make the vessel watertight and seaworthy, the power was restored to the decrepit ship.
There were still many minor repairs and maintenance to carry out before they could begin their journey south, but the hard part was over and behind them. That night the survivors of both groups came together to celebrate. Hope was on the horizon, and as Taff and Bull relinquished their home-brew on the people around them, every tooth was soon visible as the people laughed and sang, rejoicing in their seemingly brighter future.
Two days later, and Paul declared that the ship was as fit for sea as it ever would be. The ferry and its passengers were ready and eager to weigh anchor and leave the UK mainland, along with its memories of horror and suffering, behind them. The ship’s entire compliment gathered at the bow and watched with growing excitement. It had become a sort of ceremony, as though they were throwing away the last shackles of their previous lives before embarking on a new one. As the huge, rusted anchor broke the surface the assembled people cheered, confident that the hardships were now behind them.
As Paul, Mark, and Steve carried out their final checks, wanting to be sure that everything was working correctly before their intended departure, some of the people on board began to gather on the port side of the ship, gazing out across the Irish Sea and looking upon their homeland one final time. Some seemed sad while others appeared to be glad to see the back of the British Isles. It had become a seething pit of death, completely overrun by the infected and with nowhere left that was safe to hide.
“What if we get to the Azores and there’s people already there?” the veteran asked.
It was a possibility that everyone had considered but as yet remained undiscussed. It seemed as though nobody really wanted to broach the subject until they really had to.
“I don’t know,” Taff shrugged, flicking the butt of his cigarette over the side and into the murky sea. “I suppose we’ll just have to burn that bridge when we cross it.”
“Then we’re screwed, aren’t we?” Bull commented and turned to him with a grin. “We could always surrender? I’d be more than happy to spend the rest of my days sunning it up on the beach with loads of hot chicks.”
“I doubt it’ll be like that, you pleb.”
“You never know, mate. Those islands could be the last bastion of the RAF. You know how they always liked the easy life, and there were always plenty of pretty girls amongst them. Hope is important to us all. Especially now.”
“Yeah, and a pessimist is never disappointed,” Kyle grunted back at him.
Taff saw that Stan was standing at the rail a few metres away from them and staring out towards the mainland as the final preparations were underway. They had not noticed him arrive, and he seemed deep in thought, more reclusive and detached from reality than ever. In fact, he had hardly spoken a word to anyone since the anchor was raised, and Taff was beginning to feel concerned for his commander.
“What you thinking about, boss?” he asked as he sidled up beside Stan, leaning against the superstructure and watching him with interest.
Bull and Kyle also made their way across, positioning themselves on the opposite side from Taff and sandwiching their leader between them. Bull pulled out a small hip-flask and unscrewed the top. Since arriving back at the ship the three of them had been drinking quite a lot, but they would soon push it aside and focus themselves on the journey ahead. In the meantime, however, they were enjoying the last dregs of their toxic stash.
“Stan?”
He turned and waved away Bull’s offer of the nauseating liquid that the big man confidently claimed was the ‘new whisky’. He looked at the three of them for a moment and realised that they were waiting for him to speak. They were clearly curious to what was going through his mind, maybe even a little worried if Stan was reading their expressions correctly. He turned away and focussed his attention back to the mainland.
“Come on, boss. What’s the beef?” Bull demanded before taking another hefty slug from the flask and then passing it over to the veteran.
“I’ll be leaving soon,” he announced in a low and seemingly distracted voice.
“Yeah, we all will be,” Bull quipped while snatching the flask back from Kyle. “Heading for the Azores and the sunshine.”
Taff was the only one who was not smiling. While the veteran and Bull stood grinning like demented children, he knew that Stan was not referring to them all and their voyage south. He was speaking about himself and himself alone. He looked at his commander and suddenly became aware that their long comradeship was drawing to an end.
“Where will you go?”
Stan shrugged and nodded towards the coast. He turned and looked directly at his second in command, and for the first time since he had known the man, Taff saw his eyes soften and even blink.
“You know where I’m going, Taff. It’s time that I went back there and faced up to it. There’s nothing left for me here now. I’m an old man, and you lot don’t need me anymore. It’s time I handed over the reins to you. That should make you happy, you old pirate.”
Bull was slow to catch on, but eventually the penny dropped and he too came to the conclusion that they were about to say their farewells to Stan.
“Why?” he asked, sounding like a child who was being forced away from one of his parents. “Why now?”
“There’s no more fighting to be done,” Stan shrugged. “I think it’s safe to say that it’s all over, and things will be better now. You don’t need me anymore, and I need to hang up my guns before it’s too late and all I have known my entire life is war and death. I’m tired. And I’m sick of it all.”
Taff nodded solemnly. He understood how Stan must have felt. A lifetime of fighting takes its toll, and even the toughest of men who revel in war and yearn for the scent of blood more than the sound of music and laughter eventually grow weary of it all. Stan was not a young man, and he wanted to use what time he had left to do something good. Something that was not born from necessity or the lust for battle.
After a few moments of thoughtful silence Stan pulled away from the railing and turned to look at what remained of his team. Taff, Bull, and Kyle were all that was left from the men he had fought beside since the outbreak began. They had lost so many good people along the way, but he now hoped that there would be no more cause for sacrifice and that they would all have the chance to finally lay down their weapons and truly rest.
“I’ll miss you, Stan,” Bull suddenly confessed with true emotion. His face was taut, but his lower lip trembled visibly. The mighty Bull was truly heart-broken at Stan’s decision.
“You look after yourself, numb-nuts,” Stan said, patting him gently on the shoulder as he turned away and headed towards his quarters.
Within hours the ship was moving. The survivors assembled on the upper decks while Paul manoeuvred the vessel, bringing them onto their desired bearing, and slowly increasing their speed. They watched the trawler pull away from them with Stan at the helm and steering east towards the coast. He had not wished for any fuss and had insisted on slipping away without announcing his intentions to everyone on board. However, the news had travelled fast, and the majority of the survivors quickly gathered to wave off the man who had done so much for them.
“You think that mad old bastard will be okay?” the veteran asked. “You reckon he’ll find what he’s looking for?”
“Yeah,” Taff replied with a confident nod and a smile. He sniffed back and blinked a number of times in an attempt to wash away the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him. “He’ll be fine. There’s no other way that Stan can be.”
Bull was having a much harder time of it as he attempted to keep a grip on his composure. He looked deflated and could not tear his eyes away from the trawler. He needed to fight the urge to hurl himself over the side and attempt to swim after Stan, begging him to come back to the ship. His sense of loss was so strong that he felt sick to his stomach, and his usually insatiable appetite for food had completely vanished.
“Fuck it. Let’s go get shit faced,” he finally snorted.
As the fishing boat grew smaller, the crowd of survivors began to thin out. They headed back to their rooms or duties with their minds on the future and the endless possibilities of what would become of them. Anything could happen in the coming days and weeks, but all of them believed that things could only get better now.
Al and Tina remained at the rail, still watching the small speck in the distance as the trawler rocked against the light swell, its wake growing fainter as it transported Stan away from them. They did not speak but stood close to one another, remaining lost in their own thoughts and contemplations.
The blasting sound of the ship’s horn startled them, causing them to flinch and reach for their guns as their eardrums rattled. Paul was saying his own goodbye and thank you to Stan, the man who had helped to save him and his family, giving them the chance of a future together. The deafening blur of the horn undoubtedly travelled far and wide and could easily have been heard as far away as the coast.
“Jesus,” Al laughed with relief, raising his head again and looking down at Tina.
She smiled at him as they both moved their hands away from their pistols. They relaxed again, but continued to look back at one another. Tina’s face suddenly seemed less hard and far more beautiful than he had ever noticed before. Gone was the worry and pain from her eyes, and the taut expression seemed to have completely evaporated from her features. She reached out and tucked her arm under his, pulling herself in close and pressing her head against his shoulder while allowing herself to feel protected by him. Al nuzzled his cheek against hers, savouring the smell of her hair and the warmth of her skin.
“It’s all good now, Al,” She said softly. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
EPILOGUE
<
br /> The cliffs seemed much higher and steeper than he remembered them being, but to be fair it had been many years since he last visited the place. Beneath the sheer rock face the sea crashed against the massive, barnacle encrusted boulders flanking the pier, creating a small harbour that sheltered the jetty from the battering waves. The foaming water, roaring as the swells upturned and shattered against the rocks acted as a stark reminder that any misjudgement in his approach would result in the fishing trawler being smashed to pieces like matchwood with him on board.
Stan eased off the throttle and adjusted his bearing while accounting for the side wind that was attempting to push him further to the right. The bow entered into the narrow, short channel leading up to the jetty as the huge seagulls above squawked and swooped in around him, instinctively believing that there was something to be scavenged from the boat’s haul of fish as it returned to dock. Unfortunately, the birds were left disappointed and flew away, screeching their angry protests.
The engines stopped, and the boat drifted the final few metres on the calm waters of the tiny harbour. With a gentle bump the trawler reached its final destination and docked with the pier. Stan paused and looked around him. The sea behind was empty, and the cliffs stretching far off on either side of him were devoid of any eyes to witness his arrival. Satisfied that he remained undetected, he picked up his weapons and climbed out on to the jetty.
The wooden planks were wet and slimy, thick with moss and algae, and clumps of seaweed that had taken root and grown unchecked over time. Again it was a positive indication to him that the area was disused and abandoned. He checked the chamber of his rifle, making sure that there was a round fed into the breech and ready to be fired. He only had three magazines left, but if all went as he hoped then he would have no need for any of them.
He began to ascend the steep, concrete staircase that led up to the top of the cliffs, using the rusted handrail to assist his climb. The last time he had been there he had shared the steps with burly fishermen, dragging their equipment up and down while uttering curses under their breath or shouting friendly insults to one another, and singing or whistling the songs that only men of their profession knew and truly understood. Now, Stan climbed in silence and alone, unable to help but wonder what had happened to the people who had once used those very same steps on a daily basis.