by Al K. Line
As Kyle stood proudly next to the bus he went over all the features with the others, although Al had already seen it all, being with Kyle when they decided this was the perfect vehicle to stay mobile with zombies roaming the United Kingdom.
Bos Bos had already made his mind up. He was sat on the driver's seat, barking away happily, waiting to collect fares for his new passengers. Price? One sandwich each. Make that two.
"As well as bedrooms, tables and chairs, a loo, tons of storage space and killer curves it even has security windows, look." Kyle ran inside and pushed a switch in the driver's cab. The engine sped up, power directed to the coolest of features, and matching painted shutters rose up out of recesses beneath the windows on the driver's side, giving total privacy to one side of the bus. He then did the same for the other half.
"This was totally refurbished when the company got it. They added in all kinds of cool shit when they stripped it back and kitted it out for hire. They have a whole book about it inside, I'll show you. It's perfect. Not only does it mean we can get privacy so no-one can see in, but it means the zombie buggers can't smash the glass and try to eat my extremely lovely brain. We call him Basil. Basil bus."
Ven just rolled her eyes — it was becoming a real habit.
"What? It's a great name. Took us ages to decide on, that did. Right Al?"
"You are being right Kyle, there was much thinking about the very best name for him, but he is very much looking to be called Basil. It is like a perfect name for such a fine bus as this bus definitely is."
Ven rolled her eyes again.
"Anyway, what do you think? Admit it, it's great right?"
"Well, I suppose it is kind of cool," agreed Ven. Secretly she thought it was better than brilliant.
"Damn right it's cool. I can't believe they did quite so many mods to it though, kinda overkill for hiring it out. Guess they wanted it to be used as a kind of mobile home with all the security shutters and all."
"Guys, I think you are missing the obvious here. It's a sex bus," Ven pointed out.
"A bus for sex? People do not have sex in buses Ven, they are doing things like that in their bedrooms are they not?" Al had not had a lot of intimate knowledge of females. In fact the furthest he ever got was a kiss with one of the girls he met on a day out to the zoo. He asked her to be his girlfriend but it didn't work out.
"Al, people have sex anywhere and everywhere. If the bus hire company went as far as putting up automatic shutters and bedrooms and stuff then you can bet they hired it out for sex parties, swingers, or maybe for drug barons!" Ven said dramatically.
Al's eyes went wide at the thought of such antics, although he wasn't sure what swinging was.
Kyle mulled it over and came to a conclusion. "You know, I hadn't thought about that, but it does make sense. It seemed a bit mad to have done so much to it, even if it was for posh camping. They could have just put up curtains rather than all those cool sliding shutters. Anyway, so what, it's still a damn fine bus, right? You likey?"
It was a bus, a super cool '50s bus. What wasn't to like? Even if it was a sex bus.
She looked it over, Kyle and Al nervously waiting for her opinion. They were both like little kids, they couldn't believe they actually had their very own bus to play, um, travel safely in. They held their breath as Ven walked around the outside of the vehicle, then went inside to inspect the facilities and to cast her judgment on what the guys hoped was going to be their new home on wheels. It was obvious who was in charge here, neither one of them had even considered that it was anyone but Ven that had the final word. After all, she had caused the apocalypse so she was the one that decided how they best deal with the starving and manic zombie hordes out to chomp on their flesh at any given opportunity.
Ven couldn't deny that the bus was stonking. She loved retro furniture, in fact she had an Arne Jacobsen red Egg Chair at home she adored.
Home? What was home now? It wasn't where she used to live with her husband that was for sure.
The lines of the bus were perfect. Sweet sweeping curves you only get from the '50s era, where art nouveau was waning but there was still a real legacy. Ven admired quality. This was a thing of real beauty.
"Me likey. It's cool, and I think it's just about perfect really. Secure and mobile, just what the doctor ordered. I just hope there aren't any, you know, stains on it."
"You just looked round Ven, it's as clean as a whistle. Me, Boscoe and the Al-Meister gave it the once over, and it is spotless." Kyle was thinking that he would definitely give it another closer inspection now that Ven thought it had been used as a sex bus.
Damn, why did she have to put that thought in my head? He liked to think of it as innocent Basil bus, not some kind of drug baron's sex party on wheels. It explained why Bos Bos kept sniffing at all the seats though.
Ugh.
They were all stood around their new home, parked at the front of the manor house. The otherwise beautiful day mocked by the stench of dead flesh that was all pervasive. Since the slaughter the house had been made as airtight as possible. It was warm and stuffy inside but it was better than the putrid stink that hit them like a smack on the back of the throat as soon as they stepped out of doors.
As far as Ven and the rest were concerned anything was better than staying where they were.
After one more admiring glance of the bus Ven said, "Let's pack."
So they did.
And even though Ven had promised Kyle he could be in charge, so she didn't clutter up Basil with all kinds of impractical items, they still ended up taking a lot longer than they should have. Bringing with them a lot of items that they didn't need, but Ven thought absolute necessities. Like multiple bathrobes, footwear for all weathers, duplicates of everything she could get her hands on and much, much more that the men didn't know about. Loaded surreptitiously when they were otherwise occupied.
Throughout the packing Bos Bos did his duty. He sat at the front of the bus, keeping guard. He was learning that you couldn't be too careful anymore about who to trust. His mission was simple: if he didn't know them then he would bite them on the bum. Strangers had better watch out, Boscoe was in town and he was a zombie's worst nightmare. Grr.
The miraculous thing was that when they finally left the manor house behind the overhead storage racks that ran the length of the bus on each side were only partially full. It was kind of like packing heaven for Ven, she knew where everything was, there was order at last, and she had room for more stuff too!
Why didn't I get a bus before? They are loads better than stupid cars!
The Bus Song -- Again!
"The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The wheels on the bus go round and round, all day long."
And it certainly felt that way to Ven.
Kyle and Al had been singing that bloody song for what seemed like a lifetime. In reality it was probably about an hour. Ven was ready to ditch the vehicle, jump out into the street, and scream for the zombie hordes to come eat her brains — if it would just mean they would stop with the damn song already.
"But it's the bus song," protested Al, when Ven tried to reason with the big guy and get him to sing something else. Anything else. Even The Spice Girls, or, god forbid, Myley Cyrus. She was getting desperate and she knew it, but it was either her or the song now. The brain eating zombies were looking more inviting by the minute.
"Not just the bus song Al, but the Basil bus song," said Kyle proudly.
Ven sighed pitifully.
"You are being right Kyle. The wheels on the 'Basil' bus go round and round, roun—"
"Al, Al, Al!" Ven finally shouted. Al was so engrossed in his song, and happily moving his head from side to side with Kyle sat next to him, that he didn't hear her the first or second time.
"Al, how about a game of I spy?" Ven asked, trying to sound excited at the prospect. She hated I spy.
"But we are singing the song that people are always singing on the bus," said
Al. "But if you are wanting to play then I think that you will be sorry. I am the expert at this game, and many others too, and you may feel bad you are not as good as I am."
Al loved games, and his autism meant that his mother had always encouraged him to play as many different ones as possible. It kept him centered, stopped any overt aggression from manifesting itself, and taught him both patience and how to behave in company. Al was able to function to a high degree, but his condition meant that he had problems in many aspects of daily life. His peculiar speech patterns being the only obvious outward sign that his neurological pathways were wired slightly differently to others'.
The fact that he was 6' 7" and built like a bear meant that few people made fun of him once they knew him. But those that didn't know him, and thought they could get away with insults as they believed him to be less capable than he was, and made fun of him, regretted it very quickly. If he lost his temper then you had better move out of the way — fast. He tried to keep it under control, ignoring the bad words people would say to him, but if they touched him, or he felt seriously threatened, then you could expect his giant ham of a fist to cause some serious, and very lasting damage. Unless you were very quick at ducking and running.
They had switched drivers just an hour or two ago. Kyle's driving was scary as hell, but more importantly Ven hated that Al kept beating her at cards, so preferred to be up front out of the way. Plus he kept bloody singing when in the middle of a hand, and it really put her off.
Not that Al was doing that on purpose or anything!
Thankfully, very soon Al and Kyle began playing I Spy and Ven got some peace — of sorts.
Worse than kids this pair, worse than little bloody kids.
Ven drove on. The plan needed to be fulfilled as soon as possible if they were to make the bus a home, and they were to face this foul new world with any kind of a chance of survival over the long term.
How they had managed to survive for so long was still somewhat of a mystery to Ven. As she navigated the roads, weaving in and out of abandoned or crashed vehicles, she found it incredible that the world hadn't just swallowed them whole.
Her, at least. There was certainly no doubt that she deserved it for what she had done.
She missed Cassie. She missed her husband. The memories fogged her eyes and made driving hard. She slowed until the tears dried. Then she carried on, like she always did, for the sake of her son, her friends, and yes, herself too.
###
Kyle was sat in one of the red vinyl chairs at the matching red Formica covered table, both slightly faded from the sun in patches, beginning to split from the years of exposure and dryness. He was slumped forward, his cheek resting on the table top, long black hair dipped into a pile of soft cheeses, chocolate wrappers, sandwich crusts, assorted tangy dips and Doritos. Just a selection of the usual detritus left in the wake of the fire that must be fed — otherwise known as Al. Games were over with, singing was done with for now, so the men needed their rest after so much fun and activity. Being on a bus was tiring for boys, it was soooooo exciting.
Everyone was asleep apart from Ven. It was heaven.
She twitched every time she saw the mess left in the wake of Al. She liked everything in its place and wished she had packed the Pledge polish. She simply had to avert her eyes. The one Basil Bus rule was that if anyone put any crap in her part of the bus they would get a very sharp stick right up the jacksie, no exceptions.
Kyle's forehead was beaded with sweat and he kept making whimpering noises, just like Boscoe did when he was chasing squirrels in his sleep. His eyes were rolling about like two marbles in his head; he was obviously deep into REM sleep and not having the sexiest of dreams.
It wasn't just his forehead that was sweaty, his whole body was clammy — jerking and shuddering violently on occasion as the demons within tried to gain access to his body. And nobody noticed.
Ven was driving Basil Bus, and Al was lying down in the back, sleeping off his mid-morning snack, well, one of them anyway. Tomas and Bos Bos were also doing what they did best — both could actually win at the Olympics if such a sport existed: sleeping and farting at the same time.
A thin translucent line of drool was pooling from the corner of Kyle's mouth onto the tabletop, slowly spreading and congealing, sticking like wallpaper paste to his cheek.
Kyle was fighting his demons in the best way his unconscious knew how — taking advantage of the brain patterns during down time to try to make some sense of the berserker filled world it now found its host having to live and survive in. It was having a really hard time trying to sort things out so that they made any kind of sense. Information was processed that could translate through to Kyle, to get his perspective somewhat more ordered, and better able to cope with the nightmare that was now the human race. If the infected could still be called human at all.
Ever since the mass slaughter in the manor house garden Kyle's dreams were far from resting. Nightmares plagued his sleeping hours and he was often loathe to rest. It meant he could often be found prowling around late at night, subsequently nodding off at inopportune times during the day. Slowly he was working his way through recent events, but it was a gradual process and would surely take some time.
Seeing hundreds of dead bodies, dealt varying degrees of extreme violence, is enough to send a lot of people over the edge on its own. The human brain is just not very accepting of seeing what is inside of each and every one of us. It's a very gruesome business and for some it comes as a real shock to finally connect with the fact that we are but very delicate connections of blood, bone and wobbly bits. All held in with a fraction of an inch of outer layer of skin. Being the one that maimed, mutilated and finally killed at least half of those bodies, with a shotgun that was not exactly killing with a single tidy hole, but a rather expansive and bloody one, is not any way to make you rest well at night. Now Kyle was paying the price for his extreme violence when he tried to get some shut-eye.
He had consciously fought, and won, over thinking about the nightmarish scenes in the garden when awake, so his brain was having to do its best to find a way to cope during his interrupted sleep patterns. Hence the nightmares.
He was whimpering, his eyes moving back and forth under the thin dark covering his eyelids afforded, a mishmash of gruesome scenes playing out in his brain while he could do nothing but watch through a sleep haze that would not release him from its grasp.
Glamping
One of the most important decisions they had made before leaving the manor house in Wales was that they were simply not going to bother trying to find a permanent refuge any longer. So far it had worked out abysmally. Ven ticked off the places they had stayed since the zombie botnet went live — it didn't make for happy counting.
There had been the yurt, where they went to get Cassie and met Mike. They left there as the bloody thing was made of canvas.
Really? Who lives in a canvas house?
What was next? Ah yes, the barn conversion with all its swanky high-tech. That didn't end so well, what with Tomas becoming infected with the zombie botnet, luckily surviving. Although nobody knew what the future held for the poor little guy as he began to develop.
Next was the overnight stay in the chapel. Ven was out of it for most of that, but she still shuddered at the whole peeing in a bucket incident.
Then it was on to the manor house. A gloriously beautiful place until the walled garden filled up with the countless mutilated corpses of the infected, the overpowering stink like nothing she ever wanted to experience again.
So from now on it was glamping all the way.
This was Kyle's plan: to not rely on any one location, but to make the bus their home, allowing them to re-locate as they pleased. To stay in beautiful locations as and when they wished. Now that the world was very under-populated why not take time to visit some of the landmarks that made Britain a tourist destination for over 30 million visitors a year? Well, it did, until a certain somebody released
you know what on the world and killed over 99% of the population in a matter of hours.
Best not to dwell on the downside though — unless you can't help it.
They were currently parked beside the river Humble, a large water source that meandered through numerous English counties and held a special fascination for Ven. There was something hypnotic about the gurgling of the water at the base of the waterfall, the power of its descent, the continuity that seemed to help center her. Whatever happened in the world the river would keep flowing, the fish would carry on swimming and the birds and bees would carry on about their business unhindered.
It didn't exactly allow her to forget the state of the world, but it did allow it to settle quietly at the back of her mind for a while like a bed of feathers waiting to be disturbed once again. Nature worked its magic and brought her firmly into the present, basking in the beauty of the falling water and the sunlight on her face.
As they sat at a picnic bench Ven looked around appreciatively. Cassie would have loved this. How Ven had neglected the natural beauty of the world for so long she had no idea, and she regretted it immensely. Staring at a monitor didn't even compare to staring at a river all day long, watching trees swish gently in a warm summer breeze.
The bus was parked right up next to a large barbecue area, smoke still drifting hazily upward from their large breakfast. The grassy bank, a luminous green, led down to the river. Rock strewn water bubbled away happily on its never ending journey. Moss clung to rocks where the shade of overhanding trees kept the temperature cool. Upstream was a fairly impressive waterfall. Not huge, just high enough to thrill as the water continually tumbled over. Ven could make out a cave behind the opaque screen. It looked like the perfect place to shower.
