He missed them, the companionship and camaraderie that had made his home come alive again. It reminded him of what he missed about his time serving in the armed forces; a sense of family.
But most of all he missed Maud.
When she’d asked him to join them he had refused without hesitation, content to remain in the nice peaceful existence he had created for himself.
A decision he now regretted.
Not being one to dwell on regrets, he forced himself to put those feelings aside and continue with his new mission and goal in life. To seek out and offer help to anyone he could.
The problem was he had not found a living soul yet. He had found evidence of people camping recently on the moors and on one occasion on the edge of the moors, found the still smouldering and glowing remains of a camp fire and evidence of a hastily departed overnight rough camp. He followed the trail, hoping to find his first survivors.
Zombies scattered the path, evidence of a bitter fight for survival. Re-killed, and from what Willie could tell, it had happened recently. Willie quickened his pace, hoping he could reach them in time to help.
He found them a mile later. They had attempted to reach one of the granite tors that towered from the ground in many places over the moors, seeking the safety the castle-like rocks could provide. This one, unfortunately, had sides too steep to climb and they had become trapped, forced into a small cleft in its side. Zombies littered the ground around the entrance, all with their heads smashed in from whatever weapons they had been carrying.
One he noticed still had a golf iron with a broken shaft sticking from its skull. The loss of the weapon had sealed their terrible fate. At the end of the narrow cleft three zombies were still feasting on the bodies.
Willie’s anger grew. The family had almost made it, killing over twenty in their desperate fighting retreat, only to have their main weapon break with only three left to fight. The whole unfairness of it turned his anger into rage.
He had almost found his first survivors, he could have offered them shelter and safety, a chance to live.
Instead, he had missed them by probably no more than thirty minutes. The rage increased as he began to feel guilty. He had let them down. Why hadn’t he left earlier that morning? He’d selfishly sat having a second cup of coffee, waiting for the dawn to show itself on the horizon, while this family was fighting for its existence.
He let his rifle drop on the harness that held it to his body and pulled the adapted light sledgehammer he’d chosen as his preferred close quarter weapon from the straps that held it to his pack. One end of the head he had sharpened with an angle grinder for use as a piercing weapon, the other he’d left as a blunt head smasher. It was light enough so when it was swung it didn’t unbalance him, but still had enough weight to it to make it deadly.
Still feasting on their latest victims, the three zombies hadn’t noticed Willie. Previously he had always, out of some inbuilt sense of fairness, got the attention of any zombie he was going to kill, enabling him to attack them face to face and not in his opinion, in cowardly fashion from behind. This time he did not afford them that luxury and stepping forward into the narrow opening in the rock, he swung his weapon hard overhead time after time, the blood and brains from their smashed heads and bodies splashing up the rock in some macabre new version of a cave painting. Eventually, with his anger subsiding and his rage spent, he stepped, panting from the exertion, from the cool shade cast by the rocks into the bright sunlight shining over the moors.
Sitting down heavily on a rock, he took a long pull from his water bottle before reaching into his top pocket, retrieving, and lighting a fresh cigar.
He sat, enjoying the silence and looked over from his elevated position across the moors he loved, and which had been his home for decades. The exhaled smoke from his cigar slowly drifted and dissipated in the light wind that provided only slight relief from the growing heat.
He pondered his next step.
In his days of searching, he had found no survivors. The fact he had just missed out on saving some broke his heart and he began to question the futility of his promise. Did this mean that all he would keep finding would be the grizzly remains of more unlucky ones? Could he stay strong enough to cope with that?
It was summer, and the moors would be an obvious choice for any still in the area to escape to. Winter, though, would be a different story. In a few short months they would change from the beautiful, wild and remote place they were now to a bleak, desolate and inhospitable environment. A place where even those with advanced survival skills would question the sense of attempting to live for any period of time. If any were heading to the moors, he was sure they would have done so by now.
Wille could survive. He was used to the conditions and he had a roof and a warm fire to make himself comfortable. The conditions, he knew, would curtail his ability to patrol a wide area, forcing his world to shrink to a small radius around his farm and isolating him even further from the outside world be was beginning to realise he now missed.
As he sat, pulling on his cigar, lost deep in thought, he slowly reached the conclusion that had been bouncing around in his head for the past days.
His future was not on the moors, it was with Maud.
The daunting journey didn’t worry him, he would make it or die trying.
Decision made, he stood up, made sure all his kit was securely in place and strode off across the land to his farm.
He hoped he would not be alone for much longer.
Chapter twelve
Willie
Crossing the Moors, Willie maintained a pace that would have broken many younger, fitter people. He had a new mission and he was eager to start it as soon as possible.
A sound came to him, carried on the wind. A distant but familiar ‘rat tat tat’ and popping sounds faded in and out.
Knowing instantly it was gunfire, not just normal gunfire, but a machine gun firing, meant one thing to him.
Military!
The long-sustained bursts also meant they were heavily engaged, and in this day and age, that also meant only one thing: zombies.
Standing still and listening to the distant sounds, he worked out the approximate direction they were coming from. They were at least over two miles away by his reckoning. Closer to the edge of the moors. A few villages and hamlets were in that direction. It could be coming from any of a number of locations.
Willie took a drink from his bottle, tightened the straps on his Bergen and checked the other equipment he carried wouldn’t come loose and hamper his progress.
Muttering to himself, “Shall we see what’s going on then, laddie?” he started to jog towards the distant sounds, picking up the pace as his muscles warmed and his Bergen settled on his back.
~
Captain Hammond
Firing single shots from the window of the Armoured vehicle, he aimed at the heads of the zombies nearest to him, blood and brains spraying from the back of their destroyed skulls as they fell to join the growing mound of bodies that surrounded the desperate position they found themselves in.
He changed magazines and looked around, then smashed his fist against the front windscreen and screamed in frustration.
The rear vehicle of their convoy, a lorry, was stuck, jammed against a wall with its rear wheels raised off the ground by a built-up morass of crushed and mangled bodies. It was engulfed by zombies trying to reach the two soldiers inside. The other vehicles were similarly surrounded. Fortunately, every vehicle they had taken from the base at Cheltenham had upgraded protection built into them, so as long as the men stayed inside their vehicle, they would be protected by the armoured glass and reinforced sides and doors.
The higher level of the lorries and the armoured car still allowed the men to fire down on the zombies, but the men in the lower slung Land Rovers had to endure being trapped with the zombies pressing right up to the windows, enveloping them under a mass of flesh as they climbed up and onto the bonnets and ro
ofs
Stuck for over half an hour, they were now just firing occasionally at the zombies surrounding them. Not with any hope of being able to rid themselves of them, but out of a sense of frustration, of at least doing something rather than sitting there helplessly watching the milling undead.
“When is something just going to go right for us? Come on, please, give us one break, I beg you.”
He had hoped that after their first desperate days their situation would improve. First of all, they’d found themselves battling through the streets of Cheltenham until forced to shelter in a house for days until the horde moved on, enabling them to get back to their base.
No one was left alive at the base and with no command contactable to get further orders, they had chosen to try and reach their families based at a barracks near Exeter.
Taking what they wanted from the vehicle pool and loading them with everything they could take from the armoury, they formed a convoy and headed south.
Hopes were raised when they met the group led by a few Marine Sergeants, heading north in a ragtag convoy of heavily adapted civilian and farm vehicles. If they had survived, then their families might still be alive.
Only to have those hopes smashed when they reached the barracks.
The family housing area had no real fences to keep out the hordes from the nearby city and was completely overrun. He lost more men as they, overcome by the desperate need to reach their families and blind to the dangers they faced, left the relative safety of the vehicles and tried to find their loved ones.
He had watched, horrified, as more of his command fell to the masses as they futilely tried to fight their way through, screaming the names of their wives and children until the screams changed to screeches of agony and failure.
It took every ounce of his strength of personality and persuasive skills to hold the remnants of his unit together. To make them stay in the vehicles and not leave, as they wanted to do. They slowly drove through the housing estate, the power of the armoured vehicle crushing everything in its path. But they found no one alive.
One soldier could not take the sight of his wife and daughter, both bearing terrible wounds, feeding on the remains of what had once been his friend and neighbour in the front garden of what had been their home. Before anyone could stop him, he lifted his pistol and blew his brains all over the rear of the armoured vehicle.
He kept a wary eye on his men from then on.
Barrels glowed red hot from continuous firing as they drove slowly round and round the estate, blaring their horns and using the PA system on the armoured car, pleading to anyone who might still be alive to signal any way they could that they still lived.
Every few hundred yards they stopped, turned off their engines and in the relative quiet, a quiet only disturbed by the raspy growls and groans of the zombies following their route like the Pied Piper leading the rats from Hamlin, they listened. Straining their ears, they fruitlessly tried to identify shouting or banging coming from anyone who could hear them but could not leave their hiding place.
Realisation eventually came to them all. Their families and friends had not survived. Some may have escaped, but to where? They’d spent hours searching and hadn’t found anyone alive.
The hard and bitter truth was that they were too late. They’d arrived in hope but had only found death. If any had managed to escape, finding them would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, because they could be anywhere.
Captain Hammond was at a loss what to do next. He had led his men south to reunite them with their families, but that was not going to happen now. He felt useless, berating himself for not being able to fulfil their goal.
Blaming himself for the needless deaths of more of his men when he lost control of them and they left the vehicles to search for their families.
His career in the military had been, until now, going to plan. Performing well in his various postings, he was confident promotion and advancement would only be a matter of time. The zombie outbreak had been his first fighting command and he had failed completely, unable to save most of his men and reduced to the rank of spectator as he watched them being ripped apart.
Why hadn’t he thought ahead about what his men might do when they reached the base? He should have known how they might react and planned a way to keep them in the vehicles.
He could have prevented another death when the poor soldier unable to cope with the knowledge that he hadn’t been there to protect his family had taken his own life.
The enormity of his failings hit him like a brick wall. He wasn’t fit to be in command, he didn’t deserve to even live when so many of the men he was supposed to lead had died.
Slumping back in his seat, he stared at the chaos surrounding them. Pulling his sidearm from its holster, he stared at it for long seconds, tears of shame filling his eyes.
His sergeant, who was driving the vehicle glanced over at him. Noticing the pistol in his hand and the tears that were falling onto it as he stared at it.
Stamping on the brakes, the vehicle juddered to a halt.
With a shout of, “Don’t you fucking dare, Sir!” he reached over and grabbed the gun from his hands.
Dazed, the Captain turned to look at him.
“I’m sorry Sarge, I’ve failed all of you. I am not fit to command anyone.”
“The hell you aren’t, Sir. If it wasn’t for you, we would all have been dead long ago. Why do you think we are the only ones to have made it? Because of you, that’s why. You got us out of Cheltenham. You kept us together. Every time it mattered, you made the right decision. You led, us SIR! Don’t quit on us now. The lads need you more than ever now. Goddammit, I need you. Without you we won’t stand a chance.”
Captain Hammond stared long and hard at his Sergeant, digesting what he had said. The following zombies had caught up with them by now and the vehicle rocked slightly as they pressed up against its sides, hands just able to reach the window, clawing at the armoured glass windows.
“Sorry, Sarge. You’re right. It just caught up with me there. I won’t let it happen again. And as for you needing me. Bloody hell, man, you have far more active service under your belt than me, it’s you we should really be taking orders from, not some bloody upstart Rupert like me.”
The Sergeant laughed.
“That’s more like it, Sir. We all know that’s not how it works in the Queen’s Army. My job is to offer suggestions to my superior officer and stop the young gentleman in question thinking he’s bloody Montgomery. As long as he occasionally listens to that advice, we should all get along fine.”
“Okay then, Sarge. What do you suggest we do now?”
“First of all, Sir. I would respectfully request we get the fuck out of here. There ain’t no one left and driving around in circles is just burning fuel and wasting ammunition. We need to find somewhere to rest up for a few days.
Then, do you remember that guy the other group told us about on the moors? Willie was his name, I think. His location sounds just the place we should head for to get our shit back together again. Everyone is dead on their feet, we can’t go on much longer without some proper rest. After that? Well, you’re in charge, so I’ll let you come up with something.”
Captain Hammond immediately reached for a map. He located the moors and stared at the sheet. After a few seconds, he turned to the sergeant.
“I don’t suppose you made a note of the grid reference of his farm, did you?”
“Oh no, Sir. I’m a mere Non-Com and as such rely on my superiors to read something as complicated as a map.”
He reached over and pointed to a spot on the moors.
“But if I were you, Sir, I think that’s as good a spot to head to as any.”
He grinned at the Captain, “Come to think of it, the Marine Sergeant may have shown me when we were having a chat.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Now if you would be so kind as to radio the other vehicles that we are getting the hell out of here while I plan
the route?”
The convoy started its engines and slowly followed the armoured car as it pulverised any zombie that got in its way.
All guns fell silent as the soldiers looked sadly at the housing area that had been their home for the last time. It had been home for their families and loved ones, their children had gone to the local school here. They had played in the park and drunk at the local pub. They had kissed their wives goodbye every time they were deployed, usually with tears from them as they watched their men leave, maybe never to return. Such was Army life.
But now the more dangerous posting had been to stay. They were alive where their loved ones had perished.
More than one tear was shed as they watched the estate, along with their former lives, fade into the distance.
The Captain had not left a wife or girlfriend behind, but he could guess what emotions his men must be going through. Survivor’s guilt would probably be the best way to describe it.
He talked softly through the radio, trying to reassure his men that they would survive, promising them that the deaths of their loved ones would not be in vain and would be avenged.
Unsure if his words were having the right effect, he stopped and asked his Sergeant if he should continue.
“It doesn’t matter what you say, Sir. These men need leadership now more than any time in their lives. It is you they will look to for it, not me. Just keep talking to them, tell them where we’re going and so on. Anything to keep their minds away from the rest of the crap that’s going on.”
And he did.
As the Sergeant followed the route he had shown him, the Captain kept an eye out for a place to stop. A sign for an industrial estate caught his attention, so he told the Sergeant to head towards it. Finding the whole area deserted, he cut through a padlock on the gate to what looked like a transport depot and the convoy followed the lead vehicle as it drove in. Pulling the gate closed and securing it again, he jogged to catch up with his men.
Zombie Castle Series (Book 3): ZC Three Page 9
