Savage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel

by Wright, Iain Rob

  “If the survivors have no knowledge of the cripple, if they seek to join us, what then?”

  Samuel shrugged his bony shoulders and blinked his dark eyes slowly. “Do they have a boat?”

  “No.”

  “Then we take those useful to us and urge the rest to remain at their camp.”

  “Isn’t that a tad…cruel? If they have a doctor or a strong leader, shouldn’t they stay together as a camp? Leaving the weak behind and taking away their strength is the same as-”

  “Killing them?” asked Samuel. His gaze bubbled with a fury that was always close to the surface, hiding just behind his smile. “There is no place left for ideals, father. Taking aboard the weak and useless, feeding them and housing them while others more deserving starve and die, that would be the true crime. There is no place for the meek. Their days of inheriting the world are over. My world will be a world of the strong and proud. Humanity will rise again in glorious fashion, I promise you that.”

  Frank cleared his throat. “Your world?”

  Samuel’s face drained of anger and he let out a chuckle. For a fleeting moment he looked just like the young boy Frank had raised in the countryside of Worcestershire. That boy had possessed the energy of a hundred normal children and the intelligence of two hundred. By the time Samuel was sixteen years of age, he had read more books than most librarians read in their lifetimes.

  Samuel cleared his throat. “That was a trifle arrogant of me, perhaps, but this new world needs a leader – someone to bring the tired and suffering together and show them their new path. If someone more befitting for the task exists, I would welcome him with open arms. Until then, I will do what I can for my people. I am a leader, father. I was born a leader and that’s what these people expect me to be. Without me they are lost.”

  Frank nodded, but inside he was thinking, Are you a leader or a dictator? Would you truly relinquish power if it were in the interest of the fleet?

  Samuel’s expression darkened and Frank wondered if he knew what he was thinking. “Go and fetch Roman,” he ordered. “Send him ashore again. If the cripple is there, I want him brought back to me. Alive or dead; it makes no difference. I merely seek to piss upon his face before tossing his bones into the ocean.”

  Frank sighed. Some say a leader is judged by the way he treats his captives. I don’t think Winston Churchill spoke much of pissing on his enemies. He turned away and left with a sigh, wishing he didn’t love the young man as much as he did. The boy had grown up in his care. All that Samuel was came from the lessons Frank had taught him. There was a lot of good in his son, Frank knew it (just look at the number of lives Samuel had saved and brought inside the protection of the fleet), but there was a deep darkness, too, something Frank dared not think about most nights. It’s always been there. Even as a boy. Frank loved Samuel and would try to steer him right. That’s what fathers did. Samuel Raymeady was born to be a great man and a great man he would be. The arrogance of youth was no reason to condemn him. He’d done well so far. Everything would work out for the best. Is it love that makes me trust him? Or is it fear?

  One thing Frank knew for sure: with all the death and destruction in the world, there was nothing Samuel could do to make things any worse.

  ANNA

  Anna was in the diner, applying a fresh dressing to her patient’s wound. The flesh was pale rather than red, which was good; there seemed little sign of infection. At first she’d held little hope of the man surviving, but slowly her opinion was beginning to change. He had made it through the night, the morning, and now the afternoon. His breathing was steady and his eyelids flickered as he dreamed.

  “He may yet live,” said Rene. “A fighter.”

  Anna fastened the last of the fresh bandages and stepped away. “Fighters are the only people left.”

  Rene nodded. He offered Anna a glass of water. “You have cut your hair, Anna. I like it.”

  Anna took the glass and smiled. She had cut her scruffy brown hair to shoulder-length a few days ago. Up until now, nobody had noticed. “Thank you,” she said. How are we doing for supplies?”

  “Plenty of rain lately. We have lots of water…and fish – always so much fish.”

  Anna chuckled. “Yep, no lack of Omega-3 in our diets. Hopefully, Garfield will bring us back something to get our taste buds dancing again.”

  “You think he will return to us?”

  “You think he won’t?”

  Rene looked sad. He always looked sad – like a scorned puppy-dog. “I think we have all forgotten the danger that stalks the earth. We have become too comfortable on this pier: fresh fish, water, safety. We forget the journey we all took to get here.”

  Anna thought back to the people who had not made the journey: Nick, Grace, Dave, Shawcross, Jan, Mike…oh, how she missed Mike. Her next thoughts were of the creatures that had ripped her past companions apart. She could easily recall the screeching wails of the infected and the soft moans of the dead. Sometimes those sounds filled the silence whenever she sat alone. It would force her to grab a paperback and read just to keep her mind focused on things other than death. Losing so many people had made her hard and cold – even more than she had already been. Before the infection, the death of her unborn child haunted her daily. Now the death of her unborn child was just one of a hundred deaths she mourned. It had left her heart unable to beat with anything other than mistrust and scorn. The infected and the dead had removed her capacity for anything approaching joy.

  Fortunately the infected – who ran and leapt like ferocious tigers – had all but died out. Only a living person with a bite became infected, but once they died they would soon rise again and continue their murderous quest as zombies. The dead were slow and stupid – they could be avoided in small numbers and were only a danger in great crowds. Fortunately, there were very few around the village and the pier. Anna surmised that the local residents had owned boats and fled to sea when the first wave of infections began.

  When they found the pier, Anna, Rene, and the half-dozen other survivors they’d met on the south coast, including Alistair, had cleared the village of as many dead as they dared, before breaking into the pier and securing the gate behind them. The pier’s location, built almost a half-mile out to sea on huge metal struts, had kept them safe for almost a year. The gate was the only way in and out and the narrow walkway made it easy to corral the dead and deal with them in small groups. Perhaps Rene is right, Anna thought. Maybe we have become complacent.

  Anna sipped from the water and placed the cup down on a nearby table. She glanced again at her resting patient. From the soft moans and the random sniffs coming from him, she was hopeful that he might wake soon. He would be in a lot of pain, no doubt, but he might just heal if he was lucky. And then we’ll learn his story.

  Just then, Poppy came racing through the doors of the diner.

  Anna put her hands up. “Slow down, you’re going to break your neck. Who put so much sand in your knickers?”

  The girl was panting, so much so that she couldn’t get her words out. “Out…on the…sea. B-boats. Ships.”

  Anna’s eyes went wide. “There are ships? Are they abandoned or are people on them?”

  Poppy doubled over, hands on her thighs, still trying to catch her breath. “I don’t know. I-I…think so.”

  Anna pulled Poppy up straight and dragged her along as she headed outside onto the deck. Alistair and the other survivors were huddled at the end of the pier, pointing and leaning over the rail. Beyond them was a huge fleet of ships and boats taking up the sea for miles.

  “Can you believe it?” said Alistair. His chubby face was bright red and gleaming with excitement. “It’s got to be the Navy. We’re rescued at last.”

  Anna frowned. Rescued? Rescued from what? They were already safe. How could they be any safer, unless there was some island someplace with no dead whatsoever? If this was the Navy, then why did so many of the boats look like leisure cruisers and yachts? The fleet did not look
like any navy she knew of; in fact there was only one boat that even looked at all like military – a large grey frigate taking up the centre. Maybe it’s escorting these other boats to safety. Perhaps it is the Navy after all.

  Despite her hopes, Anna didn’t buy it.

  They waited nigh on an hour for the fleet of mismatched ships, boats, and yachts to come closer. Anna could make out numerous men and women on the various crafts. Many of the sailors waved a friendly hand or blared their horns. Poppy waved back at them all, jumping up and down excitedly.

  Anna placed her arm on the girl’s back to calm her. “Let’s just wait and see what they want, Poppy. We can’t trust anybody until we know a little more about them.”

  “But look at all the people. There are women, too. They look friendly. They’re waving. HELLO! YES, HELLO, PLEASED TO MEET YOU.”

  Alistair turned and scowled at the girl. “They can’t hear you, stupid. They’re too far away.”

  “You’re the one who’s stupid,” Poppy mumbled so that Alistair did not hear. Anna tried not to chuckle. Alistair had no idea how to deal with the little girl and grew increasingly flummoxed by her with each passing day.

  The vast fleet came to a stop. Only a single boat – a small white yacht – broke away and headed for the shore. A greeting party, Anna thought. Her anxiety dissolved slightly at the show of diplomatic convention. She hoped the small group coming ashore would extend the hand of friendship and offer trade, but the truth was that there would be no way of knowing until the strangers were already at the pier. I really wish Garfield and the others hadn’t left. There’re only a handful of us left. If something bad happens…

  Anna took a deep breath and cricked her neck to the side. She never played the victim and was irritated just for thinking like one. She parted the group of her fellow survivors and moved up to the railing. The group would be looking to her to take charge of the situation. Time to put my mother hen suit on.

  Patiently, she waited for the small white yacht to reach the end of the pier. It was a small boat and slow. When it finally arrived, Anna was shocked by what she saw. Standing at the bow of the yacht was a grim-looking man with a missing hand. Where his left fist should be was a jagged metal spear. Sheathed inside a scabbard on his belt was what looked like a medieval short sword. With his long blonde hair and muddy face, the man looked like a character from a comic book. His age seemed to be just north of thirty, but it was hard to tell for sure. Nowadays, even twenty-year-olds could have grey hair and wrinkles.

  Two other men accompanied the man with the sword. An older man with long grey hair stood at the wheel inside the boat’s small pilothouse, while a third man, large and brooding, stood at the back of the yacht.

  “Hello, there,” the swordsman said.

  “Hi,” said Anna abruptly. The onus was not on her to state her business, so she opted to remain quiet for the time being. Thankfully, Alistair and the others took her lead and did the same.

  “We are fellow survivors,” the swordsman continued. He spoke strangely, like he was acting out some part in a play. “Some twelve hundred in total. We wish you no harm, only to discuss a short matter. May we disembark?”

  “No,” said Anna. “Not until you state your business.”

  “Very well. I’m looking for a man. A man that tried to sink our flagship.” He turned around and pointed to the large frigate in the distance. “The HMS Kirkland. Do you see it?”

  “I see it,” said Anna. The big ship was like a bristly grey sea monster. Radars and towers rose up from it like spines and bristles, while its long pointed bow was like the sharp beak of a condor. “Why did this man try to sink it?”

  “Because he’s a bloody nutter, luv,” said the large man at the back of the yacht. “Have you seen him or not?”

  Anna shrugged. “Seen who?”

  A look of irritation came over the swordsman’s face. When he spoke again, the nature of his speech had changed. He sounded less like a Shakespearian actor and more like a thug. “Don’t piss about, darling,” he snarled. “Just answer the question.”

  “Or else what?” As soon as Anna said it, she glanced out at the vast fleet of ships. She wondered if she should tone down her obstinacy and be a little more polite. She knew little of these three men or the people aboard the boats. Distrust is one thing, she thought. But I shouldn’t go looking or a fight.

  Alistair was spluttering, but he managed to speak up before Anna had another chance. “What did this man look like?” he asked.

  The swordsman cleared his throat. “Skinny geezer, hair the colour of a two-pence piece. A bullet wound in his guts.”

  Anna’s eyes went wide. We have the guy, all right. He’s lying unconscious in our diner right now. Oh, Hell’s bloody bells.

  “We have the man you’re looking for,” Alistair said immediately. He shrugged at Anna. “Sorry, but I don’t think we should get ourselves in the middle of this. We don’t owe that man anything. We patched him up and kept him alive. What else can we do?”

  “I patched him up,” Anna corrected. “And he’s been unconscious this whole time. Shouldn’t we wait to hear what he has to say before we hand him over to a bunch of pirates?”

  Alistair shook his head. “It’s not our business. You see all those ships out there, right? This could be our ticket out of here.”

  “When did getting out of here become so goddamn important? We’re safe here. We look after each other. I don’t think we should be in such a hurry to leave. As much as I mistrust you, Alistair, I trust those men even less.”

  Alistair frowned, but then seemed to think for a moment. It became clear he wasn’t changing his mind. “We can decide what to do after we give these men what they want.”

  Why should we? Why do we owe them our immediate trust? Just because their group is bigger than ours? While Anna had no reason to protect the wounded man in their diner, something inside of her was loathe to hand him over. There was something brutish about the way the huge fleet had swarmed up on the pier out of nowhere and brought its demands. She’d never liked bullies in the old world, and she liked them even less now.

  The swordsmen hit the edge of the yacht with his spear, making a clang and getting their attention. “Hurry up and hand the man over,” he yelled up at them. “I don’t have all day”

  “Why should we do what you want?” Anna asked him.

  “Because if you won’t hand him over then I’ll come up there and take him myself.”

  “You can try, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” Jesus, Anna. Stop picking a fight.

  “What are you doing?” Alistair whispered to her irritably. The man’s jowly chin was jiggling with frustration. “Let’s just hand the man over before something bad happens.”

  “What’s happening?” asked Poppy. “Are these men bad?”

  “They’re not bad,” Alistair told her. “We’re just helping them with something.”

  Anna whispered back to Alistair in the same irritated tone he had used on her. “Why should we? Because this guy is ordering us to? We don’t take orders from him.”

  The swordsmen stood restlessly on the bow of his yacht and let out a long, contemplative sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to be thinking. His light-blond hair was blowing in the breeze. After a while, he pointed his spear at them. “This is going in a bad direction. I said I’m not here to hurt anyone, but I’m beginning to change my mind. You know that frigate we were talking about, the HMS Kirkland? Let me tell you a little bit about her. She’s a Type 27 ‘Duke’-class frigate, originally constructed for use by the Royal Navy. 193 metres in length, she has a displacement of 6,000 tonnes. Most interestingly of all, though, are the two 30MM guns on each side, starboard and portside. The starboard gun is currently pointing right in our direction. If I give a signal, or if anything happens to me, this place will be ripped apart in seconds by so many rounds of API incendiary fire that you will think that Hell itself is raining down on you.” The swordsman raised an eyebrow as if
to implore them. “I suggest you people let me up there and take me to the man you’re hiding. My only interest is taking the man back to the Kirkland to stand trial for his crimes.”

  “Alleged crimes,” Anna corrected him. “How do I know he even did anything?” Alistair scowled at her and shook his head disapprovingly. Anna gave up. Even her own people were against her and perhaps they were right. Did she really want to start making enemies? “Okay,” she shouted over the rail. “You can come up. We’ll get a rope.”

  “Thank you,” said the swordsman, already tying a mooring rope around one of the pier’s thick struts. “You lot aren’t as dumb as I thought.”

  Anna ignored the insult and stepped back from the railing. She felt wrong about what they were doing. She didn’t want to give up an unconscious man without knowing for sure what the situation was. Regardless of whether Alistair was a coward or just being pragmatic, she was irritated that he was at odds with her. She’d survived alongside the man for close to a year; she would have liked him to have her back.

  Alistair took a rope from old man Bob and secured it to the railing before tossing it over. Down below, the three strangers secured it to the moorings of their yacht, and then started to shimmy up the rope, one at a time. The swordsman went first, climbing awkwardly with one hand. When he hopped over the railing, his heavy boots planted down on the deck with a resounding thud!

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Anna said with sharp politeness. “What’s your name?”

  “Call me whatever makes you happy.”

  “You are speaking to Roman,” said the older man with long grey hair, hopping the railing. Anna’s breath caught in her throat. Roman! Roman, Roman, Roman.

  “Good to meet you,” said Roman, extending his right hand. “I’m sorry for the acrimony. That was not my intention.” His speech had returned back to the chivalrous tones of some deluded knight.