by Ian Woodhead
Knowing that those two pitiful survivors would have definitely killed him did not make him feel any better about his actions. “How sure are you?” he muttered. “They might have helped you out.”
He wished his inner voice would just shut the fuck up. Peter stopped to rest as the tunnel levelled out again. He followed the dim yellow light, wondering how he’d react if any more locals decided to use the tunnel while he was still in here. No, he had done the right thing. Those fuckers would have fed him to those dead things, he just knew it.
The sound of multiple voices reached his ears coming from directly in front of him. Peter peered forwards, realising that he was coming to the end of this tunnel. Like the entrance behind him, he could just about make out a piece of dark fabric in few yards from where he was.
As Peter crawled forward, the voices increased in volume. He stopped in front of the rough curtain and slowly pulled back the edge, trying to take in the surreal scene. He felt like he’d travelled back in time five hundred years. There were dozens of people crowded around rough built stalls constructed of scavenged timber. He counted fourteen stalls, each one packed with different products.
He pulled back the curtain and silently slipped out. He didn’t think anybody had noticed his presence. Peter located the source of the voice he’d heard in the tunnel straight away. Three emaciated figures were stood in front of a large man. Their dangerous low tones were causing the large man some considerable distress. Peter saw that he wasn’t the only person to take interest in the proceedings. A few faces had turned to watch the scene as the voices became louder and more violent.
As he made his way along the cave wall, the voices just stopped, followed by the sound of a dull thud. Peter looked back and saw the large man lying on the floor in a lake of blood. The figures then emptied the contents of the stall and slipped back into the crowd.
After witnessing that incident, he thought it would be wise to keep his head down and not attract any attention, not that he intended to do that in the first place. The noises of people bartering over goods on the stalls now reined supreme. He watched two people drag the man’s body over to a cart. They threw the corpse onto the contraption and pulled it towards the back of the cavern. Peter watched, fascinated as one of the men pulled back some fabric and pulled the cart through another opening.
“Albert shouldn’t have cheated them.”
Peter hadn’t noticed the two women walking towards him until they were almost on top of him. The women were too engrossed in their conversation to have spotted Peter. That couldn’t last long, they were bound to say something. He doubted the locals would have many visitors. Peter clenched his fists, knowing that he’d punch the first woman to start screaming.
“I told him, Hilda. Pay your dues. Would he listen? Well, actions speak louder, don’t they?”
The two women slowly passed by his location without giving Peter a second glance. It took a few seconds to understand that he looked no different from anyone else down here. They skirted past the remains of a blackened shopping trolley before melting into the crowd, and they were still deep in conversation. Their short-cropped blonde hair reappeared just once. By the looks of it, the women were threading their way to a large stall at the back of the market. It was by far the busiest stall. Peter saw over a dozen people bunched up against the stall, all women. The stallholder was handing over dead rats; the freak was even wrapping up the stiff bodies in newspaper first.
He needed to get out of here. They might not have noticed him, but Peter knew that his luck wouldn’t last. He had no wish to end his existence dumped onto that trolley and taken to God knows where. Judging by what he’d seen, that fat bastard would be on sale here tonight—as sausages and burgers.
Peter kept his head down and shuffled towards what looked like the likely exit, trying to resist the overwhelming urge to break into a run. Just like the two women, none of the locals were paying him any attention. They were too busy arguing with the stallholders, trying to beat down the prices. He couldn’t understand what they were using for money until he caught the sight of a few cigarette pass hands.
He saw another local swapping a can of lager for a string bag that moved. It looked like the bag contained two black kittens. Peter shivered, hoping the small man handing over yet another can of lager was using them to hunt mice.
“What are you selling?” shouted a dark-skinned old man from an empty stall across from him. “You, the man with the short fingernails. I’m talking to you.”
Peter wondered if he could just ignore him and let the crowds swallow him up, but he saw that was impossible. Three other stallholders had now started to look in his direction. He hurried over to the man and put his hands on the counter. “I don’t have anything to sell.”
The stallholder seemed to think that this was very funny. The man then held up his own hands. Three fingers from his left hand were missing. “You ain’t a buyer, friend. You’re way too fat,” the stallholder paused to wipe his runny nose, “you’re way too clean as well. Must be a seller.”
Peter turned to see that they still had an audience, several other stallholders were watching with interest.
The man leaned forward. “What are you selling, friend? You ain’t from Mr Stone, don’t recognise you, see? You’ve get yer fingers too. Is it meat that you’re selling? Proper meat, vermin or talkie stuff.”
He took a single step back and Peter found his way blocked. Two other stallholders were standing right behind him. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
Peter found he couldn’t move, the two newcomers now gripped him tight. The man walked around his stall and stood in front of him, still wiping his nose.
“Ain’t that a shame, it would have been better if you’d have been a seller. See, the Man’s gotten too greedy and we all need new gear. Thought you were from the other end of the city, you know, scouting and stuff. “The man smiled. “No matter, you’ll do for talkie meat.”
Peter struggled against the men as the one in front clenched his fist and pulled back his arm.
“You bring us some good custom, fat boy.” The man’s bony fist rocketed towards Peter’s face.
Chapter Eleven
Robert Johnson figured that the meaty stranger would be dead by now, all eaten up by the deadies. He didn’t look bright enough to run the other way. It was good of him to stop the deadies from chewing on poor Rob’s bones, though. Perhaps he ought to be guilty for abandoning the stranger.
It had taken just three seconds for Robert to realise that the whining tossbag would only slow him down, he was just too soft and slow. Rob giggled. Oh no, he felt no guilt whatsoever. Guilt was for losers, and losers had no place in Robert Johnson’s world. The scruffy fuckwit trailing behind Rob was a bit of a loser. He’d known Adam Goldsmith since way before the dying. Hell, the twat had been his shadow ever since first school. How this arse had managed not to get eaten was one of the great unsolved mysteries.
“What are you laughing at, Rob? I ain’t deaf you know; I can hear you giggling away, you freaky bastard.”
Rob stopped and slowly turned around, he placed his hand against one of the torches and briefly wondered how flammable his friend was. “You’re huge nose is pretty funny. So is the fact that you constantly smell of wet rat shit.”
The boy puffed himself up to his full height. He gazed up into Rob’s eyes. “You can piss right off. There’s nothing wrong with my nose. Unlike you, Rob, my outstanding nose just goes to prove to the girls that I’m fully trouser packed.”
Rob spun back around; grinding his teeth, he continued along the clearway. He wasn’t sure how true those boasts were, but he did know that Adam was the only guy in the colony that didn’t need to use a can of fruit to get into a girl’s knickers.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He stopped to catch his breath. “Rob, come on, man, tell me where you’re taking us.” Adam looked behind him. “More importantly, why do I keep hearing screaming?”
&n
bsp; This was yet one more reason why Rob couldn’t work out why Adam was still alive. The kid was seriously thick. Anybody else would have made the connection. “Adam, the dead have got into the clearways,” he announced. Judging by the shocked expression quickly spreading over his filthy face, he’d just got the connection. He looked as though he’d just swallowed a wasp. “The way I see it, this is the ideal time to carry out our joint venture.”
“Wait, how can the dead people get into the clearways?”
He should have expected that answer. Like most of the clearway dwellers, Adam hadn’t ventured above ground since the outbreak. The dead coming back to life had broken Adam Goldsmith, He’d never recovered from watching his mum and dad catch and eat Adam’s seven year old sister. If Rob hadn’t been staying over that night, Adam would have been next on their menu.
Adam had chosen to believe that the clearways were safe, and the dead would never venture down here. Rob walked up to the lad and planted both his hands on his shoulders, wondering if he should have been a bit more subtle with his statement. “Are you okay?”
The boy shook his head, “What are we going to do? There’s nowhere else for us to go.” He sank to the floor and curled up into a ball. I don’t want my mum and dad to find me.”
“Shit,” he whispered. “Get up, you idiot.” Perhaps he was the idiot for bursting the boy’s bubble. “Look, we’re safe here. Mr Stone’s men will have the dead people properly dead in no time. Hell, most of the other dwellers won’t even notice that a few of them have found a way in here.”
“Are you sure it’s just a few and not all of them?”
He gazed into the boy’s terrified eyes and flashed him a reassuring smile. “It’s probably only half a dozen, maybe not even that many. Look, Adam, like I said, Mr. Stone’s men will have them out in no time. We need to take advantage of this situation.”
Adam looked up, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Christ, guy, have you not been listening? We can use this distraction to get us some decent food.”
Adam’s whole posture abruptly changed. “Wait, you mean that you’re going to take my idea seriously?”
“I’ve always taken the plan seriously; I just took the piss because, until now, it was impossible.” Adam knew the clearways better than any other dweller under London. He also knew the location of every one of Mr Stone’s secret storerooms. One afternoon just a couple of weeks ago, a drunken Adam took Rob to within spitting distance of the nearest one. At first, Rob thought that the idiot had just a little too much vodka, until Rob noticed just how many of Mr Stone’s armed men were within the vicinity of that boarded up underground railway carriage.
He realised there and then that Mr Stone’s hidden storage bays relied more on secrecy than on physical protection. If those guards weren’t there, it would take just minutes to get inside. Rob knew that those guards would not be guarding the carriage now. “Are you ready to stock up on essential supplies, Adam?”
The boy nodded. “Oh yes, I think I’d rather eat my own fingers than to put another one of the butcher’s meat cubes into my mouth.”
It gladdened his heart to see that Adam’s thoughts were now focussed on food, he knew this would happen; he relied on Adam’s stomach to override his logical thoughts. It didn’t take a genius to work out that Mr Stone would not send all his men just to tackle a couple of dead people. Rob stood to one side. “You lead the way, Adam.” The boy eagerly pushed past him. Adam inhabited both worlds, the old one and the clearways. Watching this fool race along the tunnel, he wondered if any of the survivors had enough brainpower left to turn on a light bulb.
He ran after Adam, not wanting to lose him. Rob wondered how this greedy fool would take the news that the reason the dead were infesting the tunnels was because a new monster was in town. Rob patted the knife in his belt. If that piece of news was bad, then Adam would hate the bit where he intended to stick his blade in Adam’s throat before stealing the food and hiding above ground until all this blew over.
When they reached the old railway station, Adam and Rob both jumped over the ticket barriers. Rob watched the boy carefully approach a small hole in the tiled wall; just by watching his reaction, Rob just knew that he was right and the guards had indeed gone. The boy spun around, “Oh god,” he gasped, “I can almost taste those tinned hotdogs and sweetcorn!” The boy ran along the corridor towards the platform. Rob waited by the entrance. Although he was sure that the boy saw no guards, his strong instinct for self preservation had just fired up. He watched Adam get to the edge of the platform and peer through a hole in one of the boards covering up the windows.
“There’s nobody inside!” he shouted. “Oh my god, Rob, you just have got to see this, it’s just crammed full of food!”
He grinned, ran over to the carriage, and helped Adam to pull off one of the boards. Adam prised off another board and scrambled through the glassless window.
“Oh my fucking God!” breathed Adam. “I’ve dreamed of days like this.”
Rob slowly turned around, his eyes wide with excitement. He gazed in wonder at the rows of blue plastic boxes stacked from floor to ceiling, each one packed with tinned food. There was a good chance that somewhere mixed in with all this were the tins that he’d brought back, either here or in another one of Mr Stone’s hidden caches.
The big boss expected all the dwellers who ventured out into the big blue to bring him back what remained of the city’s food supply. It became harder to find any unspoiled food as each week passed. It had been a good few days since Rob had brought anything worthwhile back and that was just a single tin of mushy peas. He’d found three tins, but he had stored the other two in his own secret location. Rob’s supply was nowhere near as fancy as this one, but he still had enough food hidden away in that cellar to last him for at least a fortnight.
“It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven. Have you any idea what any of this stuff would bring if we sold it to the market sellers?”
Rob threw him a supermarket carrier bag. “You dozy fucking clown, just what have they got that’s worthwhile? You’d seriously sway a tin of beefburgers for a bag of dead cats? Now, stop your yapping. You will be dying if you don’t hurry up and get that filled up. We don’t have much time.” Rob strode over and slapped the boy’s outstretched arm away from a box full of tinned spaghetti. “Get meat and fruit only, you idiot,” he hissed, “And make sure you only get the ring-pull tins.”
There was no need to get any veg; he had a shitload of that stuff already. Rob left him filling the bag and walked down the aisle, wondering what else he could steal. What he really desired was some good quality weaponry. He had no need for guns, but a short sword or crossbow would suit him just fine.
He suppressed a giggle at the sound of Adam eagerly searching through the boxes and making up recipes for each tin that he dropped inside the carrier bag. By the time Adam had finished, the bag would weigh a bloody ton.
Adam picked up a box containing toilet paper and found the box underneath was full of perfume. Why would anyone want this stuff? He sighed and replaced the box. It made sense to Rob that he had best not kill Adam just yet, Rob could use him to carry that bag to his entrance that took him close to his own cache, and then kill him. Rob found a box full of kitchen knives. He dropped to his knees and picked out a huge carving knife; he slide the blade lightly along the edge of the box, watching in awe as the metal bit into the plastic.
Oh my, this knife was such an amazing find. It was miles better than anything Stephen had, except for that cleaver of his. Rob discarded his old knife, then he wrapped this one in a dishcloth that he picked out of another box and slide his new acquisition into his belt. He’d christen his blade on Adam; hell, the knife was so sharp, the poor bastard wouldn’t even know he was dying until he fell to the floor.
“I may even let him eat a tin of peaches before I slit his throat,” he whispered. It seemed like a good deal.
“This bag’s going to bu
rst. Do you have another?”
He did, but there was no way he was going to fill that one up as well, he had no intention of carrying two bags through London. Rob hurried back to the boy and took out four tins of strawberries. “You’ve put too many in.” Rob handed him the spare bag. “We’ll have to double bag, otherwise the bloody thing will split”
“These bags are shit.”
Rob shrugged, “It’s the best I could find. “I tell you what, when we get out of here, why don’t you email the supermarket and complain?”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”
Rob opened the spare bag and pulled it over the full one. “I’ll let you carry it for a bit.”
“That’s not fair,” he muttered. Why can’t you carry it? If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t know about this place.”
“Oh, stop acting like a baby. If I hadn’t told you that dead people were in the clearways, you wouldn’t know this carriage was unguarded. Besides, you’re the one who filled the bloody thing.” He looked in the bag and saw that the idiot had dropped in a dozen tins of hot dogs, the dickhead had chosen the value brand as well, what a brain donor. “Okay, I can carry it, but I’ll have to remove the hot dogs first.”
“No!” he cried. “Okay, I can carry it, just leave the hotdogs in there, I so need those.”
Rob closed the handles. “Good man.” They’d better make tracks, Mr Stone’s men wouldn’t leave this place unguarded for too long. He pushed Adam towards the window and looked back at all the stuff he was leaving behind. It was such a shame that he hadn’t found a crossbow in any of those boxes. A few bolts would make short work of the men guarding this carriage when they returned, he’d then have plenty of time to empty the fucking thing. Maybe he could still do it. If the dead were down here, then the streets would be empty. Rob knew the location of two sporting shops in the east end. Nobody had been able to get close to them because of the crowds of dead packing out the streets.
