It's Grim Up North (Book 3): The Journey

by Wilkinson, Sean

  We entered the dark building together and followed Josh through a small office and into the main area of the building. Josh switched on his torch.

  ‘By the power of Grayskull,’ was all I heard Darren say when he laid eyes on the six-wheeled army vehicle that was parked in the bay. It looked like a huge truck encased inside an upturned shopping trolley. Strapped to the roof were five 20-gallon Jerry cans.

  ‘What the fuck is that?’ I asked.

  ‘That my friend is, no, was, Gippa’s insurance policy. A Mastiff 6x6 PPV (protected patrol vehicle to you) with a bar armour wire cage. It has a range of over 600 miles and a top speed of 65 mph. These beauties have saved my life on three separate occasions. Bullet proof, mine proof and with the cage fitted, RPG proof too. There’s no armament up top though, which is a shame. Can we keep it?’ He asked as he jumped up and down clapping his hands like a pre-school girl asking for a pony. ‘Can we? Can we?’

  Josh just stared at him, mouth wide open.

  ‘You’ll get used to it eventually Josh, he’s a fuckwit,’ I explained as Darren went over to the behemoth of a truck and stroked it lovingly.

  ‘One, does it work? And two, will we all fit in?’ I asked.

  ‘It’ll work,’ he said confidently. ‘It’s built for two operators up front and eight fully equipped soldiers in the back. There’s fourteen of us with no equipment, we should all squeeze in. Plus, this thing will push through anything – if we take that bus outside and it gets caught up on something we’ll be proper fucked.’

  Darren climbed up into the cab and sat in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Shall I look for the keys?’ I asked, following him around to the driver’s side.

  ‘Hehe, fucking civvies,’ he laughed, shaking his head.

  The silence of the garage was shattered by the huge caterpillar C-7 diesel that powered the monstrosity.

  ‘Get the doors,’ Darren shouted over the low rumble of the engine as it idled.

  Josh and I ran over and opened the large garage doors as Darren switched on the headlights and guided the Mastiff out and into the yard.

  ‘All aboard,’ I shouted as I ran to the back of the truck opening the doors.

  ‘We’ve got company,’ Andy shouted over the noise of the engine which had obviously attracted most of the deedaz in the vicinity.

  I looked over to the main entrance. He was right. There was a group of them there, moaning and shaking the gates, becoming more and more agitated by the truck’s sound and light show, their numbers swelling by the second.

  ‘Quickly, everyone in. Those gates aren’t going to hold forever,’ I shouted and helped a couple of the girls lift Jenna into the back of the truck, noticing that she wore a little pink children’s rucksack on her back. I smiled. I’d bought it years ago, for her very first hike in the Lake District. Dora the Explorer adorned the mini satchel. The look she gave me that day when I presented it to her still gave me butterflies whenever I thought of it. And here it was. She still had it.

  My trip down memory lane was disrupted by the crashing of the gates giving way and the sound of a hundred feet slapping the concrete on their way towards the truck. And me. Fuck! I was the only one who hadn’t jumped into the safety of the truck. Too busy thinking about Dora the fucking Explorer.

  Luckily Darren had climbed through the cab and into the back of the truck to help our new companions in. He lifted me bodily into the cabin with his left hand and started firing his Glock with his right. As I lay there on the floor of the Mastiff, Andy leaned out and pulled the doors shut just as the mob of deedaz arrived.

  ‘Carter, get your fucking head in the fucking game,’ Darren shouted as he pointed a large sausage-like finger in my face. Then he stormed off to the driver’s cab through the tangle of limbs and bodies that were now squeezed into the back of our new vehicle, assuring our passengers as he passed that they were safe and not to worry.

  I followed him, after I’d checked on Jenna, who was still out cold, and gingerly sat in the passenger’s seat next to him. The truck was visibly rocking on its suspension as the deedaz pushed and shoved against it.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said as he put the Mastiff in gear, ploughed through the dead that had encircled us and drove us out of the compound.

  ‘Carter, I know you’re probably in shock and you’ve got some shit going on in your head at the moment, but I need you to gi ya sel a fucking shake mate. This isn’t the time for you to be standing around with a fifty-yard stare thinking about lovey dovey shit. I need you here. Now. With me.

  ‘We need to go and retrieve our shit from the sewerage works, then get the fuck out of here and find somewhere safe to spend the night. We won’t make it if I’ve got to keep my eye on you too.’

  ‘I know mate, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  Darren turned right out of the north gate of the compound and headed towards the coast, crashing through a fence into a farmer’s field.

  I knew exactly what he was doing. He was utilising the Mastiff’s off-road capabilities and taking our entourage of the dead on a wild goose chase through the uneven and overgrown fields. After a minute or so of bumping and jostling, with profanities being hurled at us from our passengers in the back, we reached the road that ran parallel to the beach, heading south. By this time the dead that had been following us had been left behind.

  Darren kept course for around half a mile and then swung the truck west into another farmer’s field. Luckily this field had been used for grazing and was relatively flat. We were taking the scenic route back to the waterworks.

  ‘OK, we’re going straight through the fence at the back of the plant. Hopefully the building will deaden any noise towards the petrol station and Gippa’s compound. I need you to jump down and throw me Dot first of all. Andy?’

  Andy popped his head into the cab.

  ‘Andy, I need you to take Carter’s seat when he gets out. He’s gonna pass all the bags and weapons up to you, then you’re gonna pass them to Josh in the back. I’ll be up in the cupola providing top cover with Dot. We shouldn’t have any problems. Any questions?’

  I raised my hand.

  ‘A cupola is the fucking hole in the roof, Carter.’ He answered pre-emptively.

  Darren pointed the truck north and in less than a minute we were ploughing through the rear fence.

  ‘Go, go, go!’ Darren shouted as he slammed on the brakes.

  I flung the passenger door open and jumped to the ground, going straight for Dot and passing it up to Andy. I then proceeded to chuck the rest of the gear up, which was no mean feat. The Mastiff was over eight and a half feet high, meaning I had to lift all of the supplies above shoulder height in order for Andy to grab them. As the last rucksack went in I shouted up to Darren, ‘All done!’ and climbed back into the cab.

  Suddenly I heard something ping off the side of the vehicle, then a muted bang, then the beginnings of that stomach-sinking word ‘contac...’ come from Darren, then another muted bang.

  Time slowed. I turned and looked into the back of the truck. Andy was lowering the lifeless body of Darren down from the cupola, his hands covered in blood. Darren had been shot.

  ‘No, not Darren!’ I thought. ‘This can’t be happening. Darren can’t be killed. He’s un-killable.’

  I stumbled into the back of the truck. Darren was lying on the floor next to Jenna, blood running freely from a wound on the side of his bald head.

  ‘Is he dead?’ I asked tentatively.

  Andy didn’t move, he just stared down ashen faced at Darren’s unmoving body.

  Another ping ricocheted from the body of the PPV and was followed again by a muted bang which seemed louder than the first two shots we’d heard. Whoever was shooting was advancing on us.

  ‘Andy!’ I screamed. ‘Is he fucking dead?’ At this, one of the rescued females sprang in to action, checking his pulse and then his eyes.

  ‘He’s not dead.’ She said. ‘The bullet seems to have skimmed the side of his head. He�
�s breathing and his pulse is strong.’

  ‘Andy, dig out the med kit from my bugout bag and give it to...?’

  ‘Oh, Sarah, my name’s Sarah,’ she said. She was dark haired and middle aged. I nodded at her, then turned my attention back to Andy.

  ‘Once you’ve done that, bring your Glock up front, locked and loaded. Josh, I’m going to drive the truck straight back through the hole in the fence and turn right to get to the main road. Keep your eyes peeled out of the back window for whoever it is that’s shooting at us. I’m guessing it’s that fucking rat Damien and the guards.’

  I jumped into the driver’s seat, selected first gear, switched on the lights and swung the mammoth truck around towards the gap we’d created in the fence. The lights shone brightly into the night, illuminating our exit. I slammed on the brakes.

  Blocking the gap were four men. At first they looked like deedaz, but then I noticed the high-powered hunting rifles that the two largest men were aiming at me. In between those two was a slightly smaller man and a tiny skinny ferret of a man. All of them wore blackened and charred clothes and each sported bloody injuries.

  It was Gippa, Stag and the Cooper twins. They’d survived the aerial attack on the island. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  I sat there, fear rooting me to the seat. Andy entered the cab.

  ‘What the fuck are you waiting for Cart... Oh fuck.’

  We both sat there staring at the group before us. Dumbfounded.

  Gippa signalled us to turn the engine off by mimicking keys turning with a twist of his wrist.

  ‘Carter, what we gonna do?’

  ‘Fucking floor it,’ a voice I recognised said from behind us. ‘They can’t hurt us in here, we’re fully armoured and the windows are bulletproof.’

  It was Jenna. She was awake.

  ‘Ray, fucking floor it.’ She urged.

  So I did. Slamming my foot into the accelerator, the Mastiff lurched forward, gathering speed as I steered towards the blockade of muscle that stood in our way. The Cooper brothers had started shooting as soon as they realised we were bolting, but the thick armour plating and ballistic windows did their job effortlessly. At the last moment the quartet dived out of the way of the steel juggernaut that bore down on them and we were free. I swung a ninety-degree turn to the right and headed west to join the main road that ran north along the coast, bullets pinging harmlessly off the back of the Mastiff.

  I joined the road and drove toward the ruins of the petrol station that were still burning fiercely. There were dead everywhere but they were no match for our six-wheel deeda plough. It smashed through the throng that had gathered around the blazing garage without even a shudder.

  Once we were through the majority of them I shouted back to Josh, ‘Anybody following?’

  ‘Not that I can see Carter,’ he shouted back.

  ‘Andy, could you go and check on Darren please mate and hand out some water and MREs to everyone.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said as he swapped places with Jenna.

  ‘Where are we going to go Carter? Did Darren mention what he had planned after the rescue?’ Andy asked before leaving.

  ‘No mate, he didn’t, but don’t worry,’ I assured him, ‘I know exactly where to go.’

  Luckily the road we were on led through the outskirts of Amble’s town centre and with the majority of its occupants being attracted first to the island explosion and then to the garage explosion the road was practically free of the walking dead.

  Once we’d exited Amble the next place on the map was the village of Warkworth. Home to the ruins of Warkworth Castle. The road between Amble and Warkworth ran parallel to the river Coquet and had sporadic groups of deedaz on it, making their way to the recent ruckus we’d created behind us. Again the Mastiff cut through those in its path like a hot knife through butter and those it missed soon gave up the chase as we darted past. It was noisy, but its nippiness made up for that.

  I realised then, why Darren had been so overjoyed at finding the beast. It was the perfect zombiegeddon machine! Indestructible and unstoppable.

  Soon, we arrived at Warkworth and luckily found that the main street was free of the dead. We’d obviously just passed and flattened the majority of its former inhabitants.

  Chapter Three

  Jenna still hadn’t said a word since she’d come up front. She was just sitting in the seat next to me, staring out of the window. She was filthy and emaciated but fuck me, she was beautiful.

  I was about to lean over and take her hand when a voice in my head that sounded remarkably like Darren’s said, ‘game face fucktard’.

  The voice was right. It wasn’t the time for that shit. We needed a safe place to fall back to and regroup. To tend to the injured. To feed the hungry and to rest up.

  As we were leaving Warkworth Jenna said, ‘I’m going to see if Sarah needs a hand with your friend.’ And with that, she got up a went into the rear cabin. She didn’t even look at me. She hadn’t since she fainted. Was she pissed off with me? Had I done something wrong?

  Lovely, more fucking questions to add to the thousands of other fucking questions that were bouncing round my bonce. Each one threatening to overload and shatter my synapses at any moment.

  Luckily Andy replaced Jenna in the passenger seat seconds later, saving me from the certain and inevitable meltdown I was about to have.

  ‘Is he OK?’ I asked.

  ‘He looks like a butcher’s floor, but Sarah thinks he’s going to be fine. He regained consciousness for a minute. He asked about the shooters and if you were OK. Sarah told him you’d sorted it and were taking us somewhere safe. He just smiled and closed his eyes.’

  Apparently, Sarah had been a nurse at Ashington A&E before the apocalypse and although she’d never actually treated a gunshot wound she was pretty sure that Darren would recover after some stitches and a little rest.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Andy asked.

  ‘Boulmer!’ I replied.

  It had been the first thing I’d thought of when the island disappeared. I’d known for a fact Darren had thought the same thing. The bounty that was stored in that sniper’s tower was just what we needed to get us started somewhere new.

  But first I had to get us there. There were a couple of routes to choose from but both took us through or close to populated villages.

  ‘Are we passing Alnmouth?’ a voice from behind shouted.

  ‘Maybe,’ I shouted back. Alnmouth was one of the villages I had been debating about going to.

  ‘My family is with a group of others there, in the house on top of the hill,’ the woman shouted as she made her way to us through the throng of bodies in the back.

  A blonde girl of about eighteen years old pushed her head into the driver’s cabin.

  ‘It’s completely walled in and safe from the zombies. I’ve lived there my whole life. When the plague struck my parents invited the neighbours in and locked us up tight.’

  She went on to tell us that there was only one road up to the house and that was blocked with a heavy-duty iron gate at the base of the hill.

  A couple of Gippa’s soldiers had happened upon the house about two weeks after the initial outbreak; they had taken the firearms they had and then taken weekly tributes from them ever since.

  ‘My parents hid me every time they came, but they spotted me tending the vegetables in the garden about a week ago. Can you take me home? Please?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, unconvinced that this would be the right course of action.

  How were we going to get her there, for one? We couldn’t just drive up to the gates. The rumbling engine would attract every deeda in the locality and it was far too dangerous to park up somewhere and go for a midnight hike in a populated area.

  I stopped the vehicle, turned off the engine and shouted for Josh to bring me my bugout bag. I withdrew the maps from it and asked the girl to point out where the gate to her house was.

  I studied the map carefully and a plan for how to get t
o the gates with the Mastiff without making any noise developed and blossomed in my mind.

  ‘What?’ Andy asked as he saw Darren’s trademark devilish smile appear on my face.

  ‘Sneaky, sneaky,’ I said.

  I started the Mastiff back up and continued along the road until we came to a roundabout and turned right, slowing the truck to a stop. I turned off the lights and engine.

  I climbed in the back and explained to everyone what I planned on doing. After receiving nods of affirmation from everyone, I picked up my bugout bag and returned to the driver’s seat and buckled in. After rummaging through the bag I found my new night vision goggles, put them on and started the engine. I was amazed at how far I could see with them.

  ‘OK guys, hang on tight,’ I shouted as I slammed the accelerator to the floor and trundled towards Alnmouth.

  Now, as you know, I’d been practising the survival game for most of my life. Learning the ins and outs of every technique needed to stay alive. One of the most important skills to have is the ability to map read. And it’s a hard skill to master. Being able to decipher the thousands of lines and squiggles is paramount to this skill. The lines I’d been studying when the girl pointed out her home were the contour lines. These lines represent hills, slopes and mountains and tell you the gradient of the surrounding terrain.

  At the end of the long road was a bridge and then a short steep hill. At the top of that hill was a roundabout; turning right at the roundabout would lead to a declining slope that led to the girl’s home.

  With my foot still punched hard to the floor we gathered speed and by the time we were at the bridge the speedometer read sixty miles per hour. As we exited the bridge I slipped the truck into neutral and turned off the engine and prayed we had enough momentum to make it up the hill. Because of its weight the speed of the Mastiff bled off quickly. Just as we reached the crest of the hill the PPV stopped and threatened to roll back down towards the bridge.

  The seconds felt like hours as we teetered on the brink but thankfully it slowly started rolling forward, inch by inch, gaining momentum again. By the time we reached the roundabout the speedo read twenty miles per hour so I gently feathered the brakes and we descended into the town. With the engine off, the power steering had ceased to function so I had to use all of my strength to wrestle the Mastiff through the narrow streets.