The Fall Series (Book 3): The Fence Walker

by Cross, Stephen

  “What do we do?” said Andy.

  Ash shook her head. They were backed against the truck as the people crowded around them. Harriet stood beside them, her hands up, shouting, “Everybody calm down! We need to work this out!”

  The truck wobbled, let out a metallic scream, and it slid a few feet forward on the shiny sports hall floor.

  The crowd screamed and dispersed, like a body exploding into a hundred parts.

  “Oh shit,” said Andy. The first of the dead squeezed in around the back of the truck. “Get everyone over there…” he paused. The door in the far corner of the hall, where Andy was pointing, the only other way out, had ribbons of thick grey smoke streaming in under it.

  The crowd noticed. The screams raised a notch. A group of people formed in the middle of the hall, holding children’s hands as they cried. Shouts for absent mummies and daddies rose into the air. One man and woman took chairs and began hitting the exposed grey bricks of one of the interior walls.

  One man ran to the far doors and pulled it open, ignoring the call from others to get away,

  Smoke poured in like a gas avalanche. Thick as soup, willowing and waving like the sea.

  A moan from behind Andy. He turned and took his ax, slicing the head of the zombie who had mindlessly taken point in the sports hall invasion. The truck shifted another two feet forward. That was enough, the gap now allowed several zombies in at once. Ash, Andy, and Harriet stood tight. Raised weapons.

  “You ready?” said Andy.

  No more time for talking. Five were in the sports hall. Now seven, eight, ten, losing count. Andy swung his ax at the closest zombie, an old man who had died in his Sunday best. He backpedaled a few feet as others swarmed towards him.

  “Help us!” he shouted, not daring to turn round for even a second to see if anyone was joining the fight. He swung again, and what used to be a middle-aged woman with two stumps for arms fell flat to the floor.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder. Andy turned. A face only a foot from his, gawking and wide and deformed. It hissed, its breath sticking like a bag of dead rats. Click click, chomp. This is it.

  The head suddenly exploded.

  With a bang?

  Andy pushed the now limp body away from him.

  Another bang, followed by another. Andy realized he had been hearing this sound for the last minute, lost in the noise of everything.

  The zombie in front of him dropped, a fountain of red squirting from its head.

  Another bang.

  A gun.

  A man.

  A soldier.

  On top of the truck. Two of them. With guns.

  Dead bodies lay around the truck, a thick soup of blood and rainwater and body effluent swirled on the floor.

  The two men on the truck leveled their guns and fired again, and again. Single, effective shots. They didn’t miss. Tall men, both with dark hair and dirty military fatigues.

  It could have taken seconds, it could have taken minutes, but there were no zombies left. Andy looked at Ash, she stared back at him open-mouthed.

  The cries in the hall had died down. An eerie silence, all eyes on the soldiers.

  “MOOOOOOVVVVEEEEE!” Shouted one of the men, as he jumped from the truck. He waved his arm manically, towards the outside. “Move, move, move, move! Come on, we want you out of here in ten seconds, move it, move it, fucking move!”

  When terrified, when confused, the mind shuts down. It empties like a jar, and all reason and consideration disappears. The commands of the soldier fired like undeniable root commands. The people moved. They ran past Andy and Ash. Harriet was nearby somewhere, shouting for Adam.

  “Come on! Let’s get out of here, let’s move!”

  Andy found himself running without thinking, his hand holding Ash’s. He wasn’t here saving anyone anymore. He was being saved. Maybe this was it. Perhaps this was the end of it all.

  Chris raised his rifle and took a bead on a running man. A man somewhere in his sixties. He was wearing a nice T-shirt - it was white and had a pattern on it. It was clean. Chris rarely wore washed clothes. Major Dalby didn’t give them time to do things like washing, they were too busy keeping on the move and fuckin up the undead to bother about things like washing fuckin clothes.

  The man Chris had a bead on was also clean shaven with short hair. Chris had a massive beard and hair down to his shoulders. It was matted in places, like how those fuckin hippies used to wear it back from Liverpool Uni. Those little pricks that used to buy his drugs with mummy and daddy’s money. Bet they were all dead now, little pricks. Couldn’t look after themselves, could they?

  A bit like the man. All he had to do was pull the trigger, and that old fucker would fall. What sort of place was this holiday camp? Everyone running around with clean T-shirts and cute haircuts? Didn’t they know they were living in the middle of a war for survival, for the whole of humanity - a battle for humanity - is what Major Dalby called it. Look at this lot then, all shit scared of a few zombies. What did they think it was, a fucking holiday camp? Chris chuckled to himself.

  He quickly took the gun off the old man, aimed a few millimeters to the left and fired. The zombie behind the old man fell in a heap. Flump. Like a sack of shit.

  To think that just over a year ago, Chris had never fired a gun; now here he was, a shit-hot hot-shot. One of the best, even better than most of the proper soldier’s in Major Dalby’s army. He was a better shot than Terry even. Terry had the muscles, but Chris had the eye. That’s what they called it, the eye.

  Chris pulled his gun to the right and fired again. Another sack of shit zombie fell. He fuckin hated zombies.

  “Come on, let’s move in, we got them,” said Terry, waving his squad forward. How come was it that even though Chris was the best shot, old baldy ass Terry still got to be the squad leader. Leader of one of the civilian squads, mind you, but even so… Major Dalby told Chris not to worry about it, he would be getting promoted to one of the proper army squads soon enough.

  Chris joined the rest of the squad as they jumped over the hill and ran towards the central section of buildings in the holiday park. Smoke rose from some of them. Why did everyone feel the need to set fire to shit once zombies arrived? And who would have to put the fires out? Fuck’s sake.

  The civvies stood and stared at Chris, and the rest of his four-man squad as they ran past. Mouths wide open, like fuckin fish. Like they’d never seen army before. Maybe they hadn’t. Looked like they’d all been having a right time in this holiday camp. Until today of course. Lucky Chris and the rest of Dalby’s army were here.

  Sixty men. There had only been about twenty when Chris had joined the army a year ago. Wherever Major Dalby went, he took out the trash.

  They skidded to a halt and took position behind an old skip. Terry popped his head out.

  “Chris lad, check this out. You can get them, yeah?”

  Chris crouched behind Terry. Three zeds were descending on a little girl. She was lying on the floor, crying her face off, shouting ‘mummy’ or some shit. She’d be a goner in seconds.

  Chris took aim at the closest zed and fired. Boom, another mother fuckin zed head smashed. Boom, number two.

  He followed the third. Only a few steps away from the girl. She screamed even louder, staring at the impending death, the monster from her dreams that no doubt her parents had told her didn’t exist. Wrong, bitch, monsters are everywhere. Always were, just now they were in the open.

  “Chris?” said Terry.

  Two steps away from the little girl. “I got it.” All he had to do was pull the trigger.

  One step away. It stretched out its arms. The girl screamed.

  “Chris!” shouted Terry.

  Chris fired. Boom. Number three. The sack of shit fell to the ground.

  “Relax, man,” said Chris, winking at Terry. “Told you I got it.”

  Terry shook his head. He motioned for the squad to move forward. They ran across the courtyard, Terry scooping up the youn
g girl as they ran. They crouched by the entrance to the nearest building. Looked like it was being used as some weapons storage place. All motorbike helmets and leathers and baseball bats. Like the fucking stone age.

  Terry pulled out his radio. “Delta team secure.”

  A moment’s pause. “Good work Delta. Hold your position until further orders.” Major Dalby. Calm as fuck. The fuckin man.

  It was an hour since Harriet and Adam had been rescued from the sports hall. She sat on the bed, Adam next to her. She stared into space. Arthur was talking but she didn’t hear him, not really. She hadn’t processed anything he had said since the first words he had uttered when they had got back from the sports hall.

  “He’s here, Dalby,” Arthur had said.

  Harriet thought it was some kind of hallucination at first. Something to do with the trauma of the rescue, of nearly dying. Surely that would mess with your head, make things that aren’t real, real; make you hear words that you hoped you would never hear again.

  Like Dalby.

  A year ago. Two days after the Fall. Harriet was in a jeep in a garage. Adam, the young boy she had met as the world around her fell to chaos, sat beside her.

  They were waiting for Arthur. The man who had saved them when the zombies came. They were meant to have been safe here, in the converted hospital. The soldiers had even called it a ‘Safe Zone’.

  But that was a lie.

  “Harriet!” Arthurs voice boomed above her thoughts.

  She moved her head slowly and looked at Arthur. “But he should be dead,” she said.

  “He’s not.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I saw him with my own eyes! He was walking around, as real as you and me, shooting, with an army behind him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Arthur opened his mouth, closed it, took a deep breath and kneeled down in front of Harriet. He took her hands. “You trust me, don’t you?”

  She did. With her life. “I do. With my life.”

  “Then, trust me now. I saw Dalby. We have to go.”

  Maybe Arthur was wrong. She didn’t think he was lying, but maybe he had imagined it, maybe he… She was crying. Why was she crying?

  The chalet. Her bedroom. She didn’t want to leave it. They could build a life here. She couldn’t leave, not again.

  “Maybe he won’t recognise us,” said Harriet.

  The door of the jeep opened, and the young soldier, a First Lieutenant, or something, stood there. She had felt relief at first. He would help them escape. He would make sure that none of the zombies got them until Arthur came back.

  But he didn’t want to wait for Arthur. He wanted to go.

  “Give me the keys,” he had said.

  It was one of those defining moments, Harriet realised looking back. A moment to decide who she really was. And she wasn't someone who left behind a man who had just saved her life.

  “No,” she said.

  “Men like Dalby, they don’t forget,” said Arthur. “He searched for us, remember? He holds grudges.”

  “Harriet, come on Harriet!” Adam was pulling on her arm. “We have to go.”

  She looked into Adam’s eyes. He was scared.

  “Come here,” she hugged Adam. “It’s ok, my man, we’ll go.”

  The three of them walked into the chalet’s lounge. Arthur picked up his sledgehammer and shouldered his backpack.

  “What do we tell Ash and Andy?” said Harriet.

  “Nothing,” said Arthur. “They have to think we’re dead. Killed in the attack.”

  Andy and Ash had been so kind. They had even managed to have fun together - down the bar, a few glasses of wine. Like the real world again.

  Adam picked up his crossbow and joined Arthur by the door. They both waited as Harriet took one last look around the chalet.

  She had seen stars when Dalby had hit her. Real stars. Funny how life was like a cartoon sometimes.

  But she still hadn’t given him the keys. She was still the person she had decided she was going to be. Who’d have thought it, little old Harriet, so principled, ready to die.

  She was sure she would have died, too, if Arthur hadn’t come back when he had. More violence, ending with Dalby being dispatched from the Jeep.

  Then they drove away, leaving Dalby there, in the garage, as zombies swarmed in. No way he could have escaped.

  But he did.

  They had met Dalby again months later, in the Wilds. He had remembered them. Of course he had. They had left him for dead. What had he done to escape? What hell had he experienced?

  Enough that he had wanted to kill Harriet, Arthur, and Adam.

  He probably still did.

  Would she have done things different if she could? Would she still have left him in the garage?

  No.

  If she could do it over, she would have made sure he was dead.

  Harriet wiped away her tears and followed the others out of the Chalet.

  The sound of gunfire was in the distance - the mop-up taking place.

  “Are you sure Ash or Andy haven’t seen you since the sports hall?” said Arthur.

  “Positive,” said Harriet. There had been no sign of them since they had been rescued. They could use the chaos of the attack to get away.

  They ducked between two chalets taking the route towards the woods by the west side of the holiday park.

  They broke into the brief boundary of fields before the woods. A small group of zombies was on the field, a hundred feet to their right. Harriet felt exposed as they ran across the grass, a short hundred yards to the woods. Arthur at the front, checking his powerful strides so he didn’t leave her and Adam behind.

  “Look,” shouted Adam.

  A group of three soldiers was on the field, running towards the zombies. Gunfire, the zombies fell.

  “Keep going,” said Arthur, urging them to pick up the pace. The woods only a tantalizing twenty yards away. Harriet pushed her legs as fast as she could, hoping the soldiers wouldn’t see them.

  But they did.

  “Hey!” one of the soldiers was shouting.

  “Keep running,” shouted Arthur.

  “Stop, or we’ll shoot!” The soldiers were getting closer, their heavy boots making easy work of the sludgy field.

  “Don't stop!” shouted Arthur.

  A gunshot. The air above Harriet whistled. She instinctively fell to the ground. Another shot. Adam fell behind her.

  “Adam!”

  “I'm ok, Harriet, just keeping my head down,” said Adam’s quiet voice.

  Harriet raised her head from the wet grass, Adam gave her the thumbs up. Arthur was also on the ground. His eyes met Harriet, and he motioned for her to stay still.

  It was only seconds before the dull thump of soldiers boots came near. “Why you running?” said a young soldier, looked like the leader.

  Harriet pushed herself up from the ground. “We want to leave.”

  “We're here to help you,” said another of the soldiers - an old man, the sneer in his voice contradicting his words.

  “We don't need your help,” said Adam, also sitting up. “You're with Dalby.”

  Three soldiers stood around them, hands on their guns. They exchanged looks.

  “What's wrong with Dalby?” said the leader.

  Harriet reached across and squeezed Adam's shoulder, willing him to say no more.

  “Come on,” said the old one. “What's wrong with Dalby? You know him?”

  Harriet couldn't help but glance at Arthur. They saw it.

  “You do…" said the leader. “And maybe he knows you?”

  “I just heard someone mention him?” said Harriet. “The boy, he's only young, he doesn't know what he's saying. We don't know him.”

  “We'll let Dalby decide that, eh?” said the soldier. He motioned for the group to stand up. “Come with us.”

  The first shot made Jack jump. The second shot started Annie crying again. Jack’s heart, getting a workout i
t never asked for, beat fast and hard. He held on tight to Annie, who was holding onto Eddy. It wasn’t long before the little boy started to bawl.

  More shots. Shouting and yelling from outside, men’s voices in short staccato bursts, like the gunfire.

  A loud crashing sound - it was the door of the chalet being kicked open. Boots thumped in.

  “Daddy…” said Annie.

  “Shhh, it’s ok…”

  A shout from the hallway. “Female, unconscious, but alive. No obvious signs of any bites.”

  A pregnant pause, the boots had stopped moving. The shots had stopped. Like a war film had been turned off.

  Another set of boots thumped into the chalet. A voice, quiet but deep. It carried in the silence like whale song. “Keep your distance sergeant, could be infected. Where’s that baby crying coming from?”

  “Down the hall, sir.”

  The sound of the boots again. Whoever it was, was coming. They would open the door in a few seconds. Nowhere to run to. They had guns.

  The door kicked open. Jack held his breath.

  A man stood in the doorway, gun held up by his shoulder. His eyes met Jack’s, scanned Annie’s and Eddy’s, back to Jack’s. He lowered the gun.

  “You ok?” The man was tall with shocking blond hair tied back in a tight ponytail. His face smooth but angled as if carved from rock. Young skin, but old eyes - dark, impenetrable eyes, like staring into a deep lagoon. He wore army fatigues; they were tired, dotted with holes and patches, ground-in-dirt a permanent feature.

  Jack nodded.

  “The girl?” said the man.

  “She’s ok,” said Jack. “She wanted to go outside, but I…”

  The man nodded. “I’m Major Dalby. I have an army. You’re safe now. Everyone here is safe.”

  “Ok,” said Jack. For some reason, he held Annie tighter. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 14

  Sergeant Allen lowered his binoculars. The army trucks had been rolling out of the camp for hours now. Coming in, dropping off, picking up, rolling out. There were four of them all together. Each time they disappeared behind the hills to the back of the holiday camp and returned an hour later. So, maybe only fifteen minutes travel time, thirty minutes to load up the remains of their old camp, and another fifteen minutes back to the holiday camp, which was looking like their new base.