by Al K. Line
"Yup," said Kyle, having really taken a liking to this very strange man.
Fucking hell, another bonkers one, thought Mike. Although if he was honest he did kind of like the guy too.
After a brief discussion with Al about what they were looking for he rummaged through the shelves and found a book on local manor houses for them. Flipping through it quickly it became obvious to Mike and Kyle that there would be a number of places that could be suitable. Rather than take any more risks by being in the library they decided it best to leave, to quickly get back to their makeshift hiding place and decide on a final destination there. Together they made their way over the threadbare carpet in the lending and reading room, heading back out the way they had come in.
Out at the entrance to the library, in the warm sunshine and the humid cloying air, the day was really getting going. The stench of decomposing bodies was rising with the heat, flies were gathering in greater numbers. All around them was the smell of fires slowly burning themselves out. For days now many parts of the town had been smoldering, after initial fires had taken hold and run as rampant as they could, before connecting with a barrier of some form or another.
"Mike, where's the car?" Kyle was bewildered, they had left it right at the bottom of the steps.
"Oh, fucking hell, it's gone. Some fucker has nicked the car."
"You must not be talking using bad words Mike, it is a sign of a very poor lack of imagination," Al said solemnly. Telling Mike what his mother had told him countless times over the years. "I think we will very soon be needing a swear box," Al said gravely.
Now was not really the time for this but Mike and Kyle just shrugged at each other, thinking it best to not pursue it at the moment.
"Sorry Al," said Mike.
"Me too," said Kyle, even though it had been Mike and not him that got them into trouble with the big guy.
"Mike, we can't stay out here, we have to go back inside. Whoever nicked the Subaru could be watching us now, or coming after us," said Kyle, glancing nervously around.
"We can take the bus," said Al. "The special bus for when I come on the special trips." He pointed at a Volkswagen Crafter minibus across the street. It was used by the Helping Hands organization to take those with certain disabilities out on regular trips — to help them integrate and to get away from environments many of them spent most of their lives confined to. From the slightly autistic like Al, to those with severe learning problems, the charity organized regular events and outings. To give carers a rest and to help the various groups of people to lead a slightly more regular life now and then.
"No keys," said Mike.
"I had the best idea to take the keys when Mrs. Karen Bowen was eaten by a zombie," said Al brightly. He had intended to try to drive the vehicle himself, but in the end he was smart enough to know he wouldn't get far — he had only ever tried to drive once before. It was one of the few times in his life that he lost his temper without due cause, cracking the dashboard with his huge hands as a result.
Al handed the keys to Kyle, who handed them over to Mike. Kyle mumbled something that Mike didn't quite hear, or at least pretended not to.
"What's that?" snapped Mike.
"I said, I can't drive either," Kyle mumbled a little louder. Really wishing that he had the foresight years ago to see what a pain in the ass it was going to be to not have the skill.
"Hmm," said Mike, although he had heard the first time if truth be told.
"Okay, let's get this show on the road," said Mike.
Mike the ex-con, Kyle the twenty one year old nerd: accomplice in the destruction of the World Wide Web and mankind, and the slightly autistic man mountain that was Al, made their way down the steps carefully and headed across the street. One man with a large mace, one with a sword, and the other with two shovels that also served as hands.
"Fucking hell," muttered Mike, the strange sight they must make not lost on him. Although he did say it quiet enough so that Al didn't hear. He had the feeling that zombie apocalypse or not Al would be implementing the swear box anyway if he caught any more bad language.
He didn't even want to think about what would happen if Al realized Mike didn't currently own a library card.
The Wheels on the Bus...
A fucking special needs bus, thought Mike. Not quite using what people would deem the politically correct term. Mike was seriously wondering just how many 'normal' people there were left.
He now had Kyle, the Internet misfit who seemed to know little about regular life, Cassie, his girl, who was dippy but not what he would class as totally bonkers. Oh, yeah, let's not forget a rotund Labrador with an unhealthy interest in all things cheese related to add to the motley group he was now a part of. Not to mention a zombie baby plus a mad woman who caused the destruction of the world. A woman who was currently totally fucking insane after infecting her baby with either a zombie virus or just a straightforward cannibalistic death giving virus. Not exactly good either way. If all this wasn't enough, the latest addition was Alex 'you can call me Al', who Mike rightly assumed was somewhere on the autistic spectrum, although he wasn't quite sure where.
Here he was — driving a seventeen seater 2.0 liter Volkswagen Crafter minibus, designed to take those that required an extra helping hand in life out and about for the odd jaunt.
"Fuck," whispered Mike, so Al wouldn't hear and demand recompense.
Mike had fought with shivs in prison, worked on oil rigs for months at a time, lived in the yurt commune in Wales, beaten down hard men, spent time in solitary, traveled the globe and committed more than his fare share of illegal activities, but he was a big old soft hearted man when you got right down to it. He had never hurt an innocent person and he would never turn his back on his friends, but he did kind of wish that he wasn't facing the zombie apocalypse with quite such a salmagundi of people, given the choice.
At least he had Cassie though. The love of his life these past few years, she was a great companion and lover in what had been a relatively quiet and idyllic time up until very recently. He could even forgive her penchant for knitting totally inappropriate clothing. Woolen trousers were a very bad idea indeed, especially in wet Wales. Mike could hardly believe that it was only Monday and he had only first encountered an infected the previous Saturday night while out trying to get food for him and Cassie.
Since then life had been absolutely mad.
There had been encounters with zombies in motorhomes, the attack at the barn and the subsequent fallout from that, not to mention the fact he had to kill someone or some thing that unforgettable Saturday night in the chicken barn. Now here he was, driving this bus or whatever you called it, with no idea where the Subaru now was, who had taken it, or what was going to happen next. Oh, plus this bloody huge guy that wanted to have a swear box rule while the world lost its mind and burned around him.
"The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The—" sang Al.
"Al, what the fu—" said Mike.
"Language," warned Kyle brightly, beginning to enjoy himself immensely.
"Oh, for fuc... bugger, I mean. Al, whaddya doing?"
"Singing the bus song, of course," said Al. "We always everyone sing the bus song when on the bus like now, it's tradition," he said with finality.
And a few minutes later after some heated debate about the merits of singing while the world burned Mike decided, fuck it, why not.
So our group of men sang away as they drove down streets littered with the remains of the once living. Mike warned them to keep a look-out for danger, both of the zombie kind and the living kind, but they encountered nothing that was an immediate threat to them. The roads were clear enough for them to make it back to the rest of the group without incident.
So they sang.
They sang while buildings burned around them.
They sang while the infected roamed the streets, hungry and looking for flesh.
They sang while the few people that
were left cowered in dark corners, afraid for their lives.
They sang while the world fell apart and their fellow man thought nothing of stealing their vehicle and stranding them amid the carnage. The air was acrid with smoke and ash — the stench of rotting flesh increasing as the day got warmer and warmer.
What else can you do when the world burns but sing?
None of them had been through a main street since the botnet infection, the drive to the library had been a real eye-opener for Kyle and Mike. Up until now they had been on country lanes. Kyle had seen the destruction in suburbia just after the virus hit, but, together with Ven, they had avoided towns as they knew it would be bad.
Five days on it was worse than he could have possibly imagined. As they sang they tried to block out the worst of the devastation around them. Without Al they certainly wouldn't be singing.
It was a small town, most of the action taking place on a main through road. Nearly every single building had the front windows smashed either in or out. Some were shattered because of looting, others from infected trying to get out of the buildings — no longer having the intelligence to simply turn a handle or pull a door open. Many of the buildings had burned out and were now merely smoldering, smoke rising languidly and forming a misty haze on this mockery of a beautiful day.
Glass littered the street and driving needed to be slow and considered. Glass was the least of it though. It was impossible to avoid the bodies. It was much worse than suburbia where most people had been devoured in their homes, here it was definitely an outdoor activity.
Many shoppers were infected when the virus hit, checking email or sending messages to friends and family, or tweeting status updates as they bought coffees and stopped for snacks. It meant that the first few hours after the botnet began its journey around the globe was absolute carnage. Disfigured and mutilated bodies cluttered the open spaces, sometimes in piles. There was no avoiding driving directly over putrid flesh and bone, there simply wasn't room to avoid it.
Cars were abandoned at odd angles, people half ripped from their seats, their faces cloven, their brains devoured. Bits of body littered the place, and Mike had to drive slowly as the minibus was slung fairly low to the ground. He knew the risk of getting something nasty stuck under the vehicle, he certainly didn't want a repeat of that incident.
At various points there were police cars, obviously originally ordered to barricade streets in a vain attempt to stop what had been initially assumed to be some kind of riot. You could see that the coppers had rapidly changed their minds. Abandoning their posts, and simply trying to save themselves from being next on the menu once they saw what they were really up against. But for a small town it was not high on the powers-that-be's list of priorities.
No army was called in — hardly any extra men were available — and the remains of the local police force were discarded after being partially devoured just like the ordinary law abiding citizens had been.
No favoritism here.
The most disconcerting thing of all was a distinct lack of life. They didn't see a living soul. After four days people were either infected themselves, eaten, or hiding as best they could.
What they couldn't miss were the zombies. Many were obviously still well fed and relatively slow, although there was certainly now a shortage of fresh food. But the majority they encountered were looking more and more haunted, and skinny. Not concentration camp skinny, but you could see the dehydration and the beginnings of bones protruding underneath their bruised and bloodied skin. Their metabolisms were running fast and they burnt through their meals at an incredible rate. They always wanted more.
The smell of the town was foul. Putrid flesh and smoke, feces and stale urine covering the infected. It certainly wasn't a day to wind the windows down if you knew what was good for your olfactory senses.
The infected they did see, and luckily it was not many, went manic at the sound of the vehicle, running alongside, trying to grab on, meaning Mike had to go dangerously fast to leave them behind. He was amazed they didn't get a flat tire, or get one of the poor souls he had no choice but to drive over caught in the wheel arches.
You could see the berserker frenzy building in the zombies they passed by, the longer they went without food the crazier they got, and that was saying something. Thankfully their encounters with the infected were totally minimal. Mainly because they were beginning to understand that their meals were hiding, and they needed to begin to hunt if they were to stay functioning.
The majority of them had wandered off in various directions, and this is how they began to learn again. Skills were needed if you were to get to your prey behind closed doors. The days of food running around in the open were mostly over, now it would take a hunter's instinct and cunning to get the fresh brains they so desperately craved.
It didn't really bode very well for anyone if truth be told.
###
The second that baby Tomas began to react to the zombie botnet Ven collapsed into a state of shock right there in the converted barn they thought was going to be their safe haven. She could be led around but she did not interact or speak, she was like a zombie herself but without the hunger. Although never tested for autistic spectrum disorder (ASD), Ven was definitely a candidate for being classed as having a mild form of Asperger's syndrome. A large percentage of the population would register too if tested. It may have been why she didn't relate to many people on an emotional level, why she was so successful as a hacker, and why she simply shut down when something bad happened.
Or maybe she was just like that.
What's the difference really?
We are the way we are, classified and labeled or not, we are wired a certain way is all. Ven had zoned out like this before, when young, and on a number of high pressure occasions since. She had always come back from it within a few hours to some degree though. Even Kyle would register as mildly autistic if tested, it was a very common thing amongst those with above average IQs and those that developed high-grade computer skills.
The lack of social interaction abilities or inclination led to more time alone, which led to computer skills, and each fed the other to develop the abilities of the hacker. So Ven was far from unique, and you will know people that have the same issues or similar. Obsessions, bad social skills, a lack of empathy, it is very common indeed. But, and there is always one, she may have just been someone who didn't give a shit about other people and liked stealing.
It's all too easy to classify people and explain away all their actions, they are still responsible for who they are though, aren't they? It's not an easy thing to answer, it brings up all kinds of philosophical questions. But who would blame Ven for retreating from her baby's infection to a safer place? It was too much to deal with, and would be for most other people. 'Normal' or not.
Mike had been right, they had to leave the property, and fast. They gathered up the few items they had brought in with them and they headed out to the vehicles. Cassie bundled little Tomas tight in a blanket, his face puffed up, dark veins bulging. She was too afraid to take the time to examine him closely, the little guy could be a mini brain eater or simply dead for real at any minute. She, and the others, just didn't know what would happen to such a young innocent faced with the botnet virus.
They didn't know where to go, there was no plan, so they simply got into the vehicles and drove. Mike took Ven with him in the Land Rover, bundling her into the back seat and fastening the seatbelt. She put up no resistance — just stared blankly ahead the whole time. Boscoe, his tail down, obviously worried, jumped over the driver's seat and sat in the empty passenger's position, making sure he was going with them.
"Okay Bos Bos, guess you are coming with us then dude?"
Bos Bos wagged pitifully, then began to whine gently, and very annoyingly, until they made their next stop.
Kyle strapped Tomas into the portable baby seat, keeping him wrapped tight, then checked the straps again just to be sure. He also covered the p
oor little guy's head with a blanket as he couldn't face looking at the little man a moment longer. Cassie drove, following Mike, wherever he was going.
Evening was drawing in and Mike certainly didn't want to be driving around in the dark, the damn Welsh lanes were intimidating enough in the daytime. It began to drizzle, that special kind of rain you only get in Wales, the one that people talk about constantly. It did nothing to improve the mood in either vehicle.
All Mike knew was that they had to get somewhere that could be safe for the night at least, a place to formulate a proper plan. He didn't dare even think about how they were going to handle Ven if she didn't snap out of it, and as to the baby? It just didn't even bear thinking about if he was honest with himself. Time enough for that later, for now he just wanted to get somewhere with four walls and a locked door. Preferably a very solid door.
After ten minutes driving through the lanes, further along the road that had led to the barn, Mike spotted what looked like a possible candidate. A small Welsh Presbyterian Chapel (Capel). A modest stone construction with what looked like an open door but also, rather disconcertingly — a graveyard.
You couldn't make this shit up.
Mike really was beginning to wonder which God he had insulted lately, since Saturday evening life had been one constant stress-fest. The rain didn't help, turning what would have been a quaint country scene in the bright sunlight of earlier that day into just the kind of place you would definitely not go if the zombie hordes were on the loose.
"Beggars can't be choosers," said Mike out loud. There was zero reaction from Ven.
"What do you think Bos Bos?"
Thump, thump.
At least someone agreed then.
In the car behind Mike nobody was overly impressed with Mike's decision.
"This is like the worst place you can go when zombies attack, you know," muttered Kyle anxiously. He had seen the movies, read the books. He knew for a fact that you never, ever, under any circumstances went remotely near a church or a graveyard when the apocalypse hit.
