Dead Beat

by Remy Porter

  ‘What do you think,’ Jack shouted out, ‘is he gonna turn biter on us?’

  Griffin took hold of the old man’s arms as he bent over to cough again. Griffin looked to me like he was trying to sniff the guy. Like that was going to tell him anything. Jack was walking over towards them looking purposeful. I pushed off from leaning on the stage. I’d seen enough confrontation scenes kick off in my six years as a police officer to sense something bad was about to happen.

  ‘Are you holding him tight?’ Jack shouted over to Griffin.

  The other villagers had moved into both corners at the opposite end of the hall. The Hanson parents were trying to shield Mark and Phillip from what was going on but they were determined to see and kept pulling away to look. Some of the older men were edging closer and offering to help Griffin.

  ‘Look guys,’ I said, starting to walk over. ‘I’ve seen this bloke, he’s always looking ill. It’s normal for him.’

  ‘He doesn’t look very normal to me,’ said Jack. ‘He looks like he wants to turn into something that likes to use his teeth.’

  I could see the old man clearly. He was bent over and coughing, hawking up bloody phlegm. His skin did look very grey, but I considered that might be normal for someone of his advanced age. His eyes were bloodshot. The old man started to shake his head, but the movement looked odd and unnatural. More like a spasm than an attempt to communicate.

  ‘Can you hear me down there old fella? Is there anything we can do to help you? Are you feeling okay?’ I said looking down on him.

  ‘I really don’t think he’s listening,’ said Griffin, visibly beginning to struggle with the old man, despite holding his arms pinned back.

  ‘Look at him officer, he’s starting to turn,’ Jack shouted across to me.

  ‘Listen Johnny, Jack’s right,’ Summer said, appearing next to me. ‘We need to do something with him. He’s going to get dangerous.’

  Looking around the hall, I saw many fearful eyes. They wanted me to make a decision, but I just wasn’t sure.

  ‘Look, I think maybe he’s just sick,’ I said again.

  The old man’s pupils were starting to take on a hint of jaundiced yellow. There was a snarl coming over his mouth and I could see that this guy still held his own teeth. They looked black with unchecked plaque and decay. I had called this all wrong.

  The old man was writhing and thrashing as Griffin held back his wrists. The sounds out of the man’s mouth were both animal and guttural. I could hear his old bones grind and crack as he threw his body into awful shapes. He was trying to bite out at Griffin.

  ‘Hold him still will you, Griffin?’ Jack shouted.

  I stood with the other men, too rooted and scared to take a step forward and risk a stray bite.

  Jack took something resembling a heavy metal cosh out his pocket and rapped it twice on the old man’s skull. On the second impact, it seemed to go inside the old man’s head like rock breaking through ice. Griffin let the old man’s body fall where blood pumped and pooled over the varnished wooden floor.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ I said and looked away.

  ‘It’s okay, he’s dead now. He can’t hurt anyone,’ Jack said to the people in the corners.

  I felt Summer take told of my arm and cling on. She guided me away and back towards the stage.

  Sometime later, when the body had been covered and the sobbing had died away, we made our plans. Bob Sack was coming with us, and we apparently were going to bring power back to this godforsaken place.

  CHAPTER 11

  Summer and I were the last to drive away from the WI. Bob Sack told us he had to go home first for some tools, and would meet us at agreed point near the wind farm in an hour or so. We’d spent the last half hour helping ferry the rest of the scared survivors back to their vehicles so they could drive away safely. Three more times zombies had stumbled into view and three times Griffin had put them down before I’d even had a chance to react. Blood thirty.

  Summer looked like she was worried. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea? None of us knows anything about wind farms really. Bob looks like a fat idiot.’

  ‘I think we’ve got to give it a shot. Hardly anyone said they had a generator and winter is nearly on us.’

  ‘Well, I suppose we do have that woman who is pregnant to consider.’

  ‘You what?’ I said puzzled. ‘Oh yes, Jean Hanson.’

  ‘It’s due in a couple of months. Why do you think she looked so worried? I haven’t got a clue what to do, and Griffin said the village doctor is dead.’

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll have to read a book or something. How hard can it be?’ I said with false bravado.

  ‘Well, we’ve got to get the power back on. Worry about Jean Hanson when we have too.’

  We’d driven back to the police station to freshen up and collect Lester. What we didn’t expect to see was the garage attached to the station reduced to blackened, skeletal cinders. Tendrils of dark smoke floating up to the heavens. We drove around to the car park at the back, and there amongst the parked panda cars Lester stood waving a large public order baton in one hand and a tin of lager in the other. Swinging for the head of a burning man crawling towards him, too drunk to aim, he kept missing and over-balancing. The zombie’s face was burnt like the underside of a barbequed hamburger. Lester finally found the target, the baton disappearing into the man’s face, showing the pink tenderised cooked flesh beneath the blackened skin. The burnt man collapsed and lay still.

  More charred bodies crawled and slithered in the remains of the garage, one so fried only its white teeth distinguished it from the burned up debris. The garage was finished, but thankfully, the side wall and the roof to the police station hadn’t set on fire. The thick, caustic smell reminded me of the burning pyres of cows and sheep built by the farmers during the foot and mouth crisis years before. Running my eyes over the police station, it still appeared structurally sound. It would still be able to keep us safe.

  ‘Lester, what the hell have you been playing at?’

  ‘You ungrateful fucker,’ he said. ‘Can’t you see all the good work I’ve done for you here?’

  ‘Lester you’ve nearly burnt the place down, you crazy bastard.’

  ‘I won’t try and dispute your fascist facts Officer, but I killed plenty of those fuckers. You go and see.’

  It was then I saw that the back door to the police station was ajar. Better and better.

  ‘Come on,’ said Summer holding her hatchet again. ‘Let’s go and see what he’s left us.’

  ‘Wait up,’ I shouted, trying to keep up with Summer. The girl was fearless.

  Lester had certainly left his mark on the place. The drying room was in chaos with over a dozen bags lying torn open and their contents strewn across the floor. In the report room, it got worse with crushed and empty lager cans covering desks and crumpled, trodden down paperwork everywhere. It was hard to miss the bloodstains, like multiple red snail trails leading out of the door and into the adjoining room used for photocopying and occasional meetings.

  Inside there it was like an abattoir with blood thick and congealed on the harsh, bristled, auburn carpet. I counted five bodies in there with a wide variety of severe blunt force traumas to their craniums. One unfortunate old woman appeared to have a fist full of biro pens lodged squarely through one eye. It evidently hadn’t been enough to cease all function as her other eye rotated wildly like a loose marble. Lester appeared next to me and said, ‘Did I miss you, dear?’ Then he bashed the pens all the way in with what looked like an old croquet mallet.

  ‘Found it in a bush,’ he slurred.

  ‘Perhaps we should put you back in the cell.’

  Lester gripped a little harder on the mallet and was clearly less than keen.

  ‘No, don’t worry Lester, nobody is locking you up,’ Summer said and looked hard at me. ‘It was probably our fault for leaving you behind.’

  She went on to explain at length all the events from the Women’s Institut
e and how many had survived and were also hiding in the village. I saw Lester visibly relax and become less belligerent. It was a truism in the police service that although men in the main were the physically superior in a confrontation situation, it was often female officers who could calm the heat out of a conflict and resolve things without brute force being needed. Although Summer was only a PCSO she seemingly possessed all the feminine wiles to twist Lester around her little finger.

  ‘We are going up to the wind farm Lester to try and get the power back on. I want you to come with us and help us. Is that okay?’ she finished.

  ‘Yes that is fine. Just remember I’m doing it because you have a lovely smile and not because your fascist friend is threatening to lock me up again.’

  ‘Okay, Lester,’ I said. ‘Truce.’

  We teased Lester into the back seat of the 4x4 and set off again. Summer produced sandwiches from her bag as if by magic, but in fact, she said that she’d been handed them at the Woman’s Institute by a kindly old dear. We ate the food greedily, all three of us ravenous, having lived off the fumes of adrenalin for the best part of twenty four hours.

  I steered a course that would parallel to a certain extent the route we’d taken to Summer’s parents’ house. The high tide was up on the foreshore of the beach. The frothing water lapped over the coarse sand grasses and footpaths that ran below the sea wall. We again passed the row of local shops, noting human activity amongst the stumbling dead. Griffin and other men from the Institute were looting the butcher’s shop. They had the old green Land Rover on the pavement and nearly inside the entrance. White plastic bags and, what I took to be fresh meat, were piled up on the seats and back of the vehicle. One of the men had a machete in his hands and was effectively cutting slices through any walking dead that got too close. I spotted Griffin in the entrance, his sour smile playing on his lips. As we left the last of the promenade behind I saw more dead flowing along the road towards the shops, as the scent of meat and the farmer’s men were drawing them in. How long before they were all decomposed and rotten, I wondered? When would it end?

  I became more adept at clipping and spinning away the dead that got in our way, rather than messily hitting them square on and letting the wheels chew the life out of them.

  ‘Do you know the way?’ Summer said as we left the village.

  ‘I think so,’ I said. I’d driven past the wind farm many times on patrol.

  We found the road that led us to the wind turbines. The giant white structures must have been ninety metres tall and sat on the rolling green hill like Martian machines. I was relieved to see that a high metal fence surrounded them, keeping the compound secure. The fence was topped by razor wire, and I wondered what Jack had in mind for the fences around the village. The man clearly had a problem with me, but if he had the know-how to keep us all safe I would live with it.

  We followed the fence line and picked up the dirt track that led to the gates. I could see there was already a white transit van at the entrance. Slowing down, I parked the 4x4 ten metres behind its rear bumper.

  ‘Wait here,’ I told them and stepped out. It was an exposed hillside, and I could feel the wind whipping through my clothes and chilling me to the bone. Glancing in every direction, I was relieved there were no bodies following us. Leaving my twelve bore in the vehicle I drew out an extendable. Creeping up to the rear doors of the transit van I tried to look in through the dirty rear windows. It was dark inside the interior and I couldn’t make out any movement. Down the side of the vehicle, I could see that the driver’s door wasn’t closed all the way. I drew the baton back over my shoulder for leverage and wrenched the door open. The cab was empty and the key still hung out of the ignition. Suddenly I felt a pressure on my shoulder and the baton was ripped out of my hand.

  ‘You could have my eye out with that.’ It was the rotund electrician Bob Sack, and he had a broad smile on his face.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I said in a breathless whisper.

  ‘Sorry mate, I’ve always been light on my feet. Do you want a sit down?’ Bob said.

  Summer and Lester had come over now the danger appeared over. Bob seemed sheepish when he saw the look on Summer’s face, and changed the subject.

  ‘I’ve crowbarred the padlock off and replaced it with one of my own. The last thing we want is any more of those things following us into the compound.’

  ‘Let’s get the right side of this fence then,’ I said.

  We drove our vehicles up the winding gravel driveway. The turbines rose above us and dwarfed us like ants. The unmoving blades hung in space and, as we drew nearer, we saw the unique aerodynamic curve and shape of the smooth white blades. They were a giant engineering feat unlikely to be matched by us few human survivors.

  ‘So these things power the village?’ Summer asked as I parked.

  ‘Bob seems to think so.’

  Outside again Bob was getting his tools together. Lester found an old cigarette to smoke and appeared content.

  ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ I said to Bob, watching him pick up and disregard various tools I was clueless as to the purpose of. Bob gave me a funny smile. I was beginning to think he was a bit strange.

  I could see doors on each of the three massive turbine bases.

  ‘So what now then, Bob?’

  ‘The village gets most of its electricity from this wind farm. The high winds up on the fells made it environmentally viable, although of course there were still plenty of objections from local residents.’

  ‘What local residents Bob?’ I said smiling and looking around. I couldn’t see anything other than rolling, grassy fells. A quarter mile down the track, I could just make out the gate. No bodies had gathered yet.

  ‘So Bob, can you fix it?’ Summer asked, smiling.

  ‘I won’t know until we get into the control room. Come on,’ he said.

  It was clear that Lester did not want to come out and play. He sat in the back of the 4x4 and had produced another tinny from his pocket. I motioned for him to roll the window down.

  ‘Are you coming with us, Lester?’

  ‘Are you joking, Officer?’

  I went into the driver’s side and took out the keys.

  ‘You can be a look out Lester. If anyone comes you hit the horn.’

  ‘Best leave those keys then.’

  Five previous convictions for vehicle theft.

  ‘Lester,’ I said. ‘Get real.’

  I walked over to the middle turbine base. Bob had already opened the door. The three of us looked at each other for a second. I went first with the twelve bore and Summer followed close behind.

  The narrow ladder smelt of dust and oil. Ten feet down, we were in a corridor clustered with wires and pipes. I could see numerous electrical panels and boxes at intervals. The place was spacious, like a Tardis.

  ‘Where to start?’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got a theory,’ Bob said. ‘Yesterday and last night when all this craziness started up we had storms and high winds up here. Really high. Too high for these turbines even. In fact, I think they are programmed to shut down when the winds pick up too much to prevent the blades and mechanisms becoming damaged. For whatever reason they never started up again.’

  Bob pushed ahead of us and around the corner, seemingly oblivious to any danger. We caught him up bent over a board of flashing lights. He started to flick some switches down one side and there was a great whirring in the machinery above. He spent another half hour on the panel as the crescendo of raw noise engulfed us.

  ‘There you go. Easy as pie,’ he shouted as Summer and I looked at each other uneasily. It was deafening.

  We climbed back up, and outside I ducked instinctively as the giant blades whipped down from the first turbine.

  ‘Two hundred miles per hour and twenty two revolutions a minute. Impressive, hey?’ shouted Bob again. He was already on his way into the next turbine base.

  I looked back towards Lester and the 4x4.
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  ‘Shit,’ both Summer and I mouthed at the same time. It wasn’t a Lester problem this time. I could see half a dozen walking dead edging their way over the crest of the hill. They weren’t coming from the direction of the gate, but from the fence line itself. Lester had seen them too and his face held a more serious expression than usual. Bob hadn’t even noticed and had disappeared, I presumed into the next turbine.

  ‘Let’s run them down,’ Summer screamed to me above the noise.

  We jumped into the 4x4 and I revved the engine wildly. I sped forward and nearly stalled as I made a harsh, tearing turn on the gravel.

  The first man was stumbling at speed towards us. His jaw bone was unhinged and one foot looked loose and broken as it flopped around with each stride. I clipped him with one corner of the vehicle at fifteen mph. I expected to knock him off his feet, but instead he was launched into the air. His head bulls-eyed off the windscreen and turned the glass into a patchwork of spider webs.

  ‘Reverse over him,’ Summer shouted.

  I could see in my mirrors that the man was attempting to rise. I crunched into reverse and ploughed the two tonne vehicle over the top of his head. It was pulped into the earth.

  ‘Give me a little room with the next one,’ she shouted over.

  She leant right out of the passenger window and buried her hatchet in the head of a woman reaching desperately for us. The hatchet lodged in deep, and the woman folded onto her knees and her head collapsed awkwardly into the grass.

  ‘Remind me to get that later,’ Summer said, looking crazy and elated.

  The next three went down by old fashioned death by dangerous driving. In the old days, you could get fourteen years for the offence, but today all you had to worry about was breaking your vehicle on their decomposing, inhuman carcasses. The 4x4 did the job with ease.

  The diesel gauge was down to a quarter of a tank. I planned to siphon fuel out of the unused patrol cars. There were three spare diesel vehicles back at the station.