A wumph sound and immediately a few zeds were on fire. The fire spread quickly until all those that had been covered in petrol were aflame. It didn’t stop them moving, if anything their movement became more vigorous. This helped the spread of the fire. Rotten flesh in contact with rotten flesh, old clothes with tangles of hair. Slowly but surely the fire spread through the horde. No intelligence from the herd and no flurry to the sea to extinguish the flames. Just dumb ignorant acceptance of their fate. A series of pops as heads exploded. Rare and sporadic for the first minute or two, but soon multiple, like cooking popcorn in a fire. As the heads popped, the flaming zeds fell to the ground, their lives burnt out for good.
An hour more of burning and the way home was finally open, paved with the charred and smoldering bodies of the dead, framed in orange by the dropping sun. Jack, Allen, Grace, and Adam climbed from the cliff and carefully threaded their way to the sea and the waiting boat.
Chapter 29
Jack opened his eyes. It was the middle of the night. Annie was calling him. He jumped up in a panic and dashed to her room. She was sitting up in bed, crying. Night terrors again. But he could never be sure. He had to be there every time, for the time when it wasn’t night terrors. Because it would come, one day.
He hugged her and whispered to her, telling her everything would be alright, that Daddy was here and he would never leave her. He wouldn’t let her go - not like he’d let Mummy go. But he didn’t say that last bit.
Eventually, she dropped into a snooze, and Jack laid her back down on the thin hotel mattress. Her eyes stayed closed, and she breathed gently, fast asleep again.
“She ok?” whispered Grace from the doorway.
Jack nodded and crept out of Annie’s room, being sure to avoid the creaky floorboards. Three months in this hotel suite and he had got to know precisely where to tread with maximum stealth.
“Come on,” said Grace, talking Jack’s hand. They got back into bed. Grace was soon snoring lightly. Jack didn’t fall asleep so quickly. He stared through the crack in the heavy curtains at the few visible stars. It was a clear deep autumn night. There was a crispness in the air, and the winter would be here soon. The sound of the sea crashing outside eventually lulled him to sleep.
The Two Sea’s View wasn’t the grandest hotel on the Tulloch peninsula, but it was the biggest, and the most easily fortifiable. The decision to stay in Tulloch had come with a caveat from Allen that they needed somewhere secure and easy to escape from, with numerous exit routes. The Two Sea’s View ticked all these boxes. Stuck out on the end of a brief promontory, it was surrounded on three sides by the sea, with a small jetty and one road in and out. The road was well barricaded, but subtly, with crashed cars, so it didn’t look too purposeful. Enough to keep out the zeds and hopefully any full frontal attack from people. The jetty had five motor boats moored alongside three rowing boats. The motor boats were regularly checked, fuelled, and oiled. They had to be ready to go in an instant. Bug out bags hid under a seat in each boat.
Three months and they were still alive.
Allen wiped away cobwebs that hung from the ceiling and shined his torch into the hidden corners of the basement. Pipes, breakers, generators, the heart and lungs of the old building. Not touched for nearly two years, brought to a halt as the world stopped.
“You think we can get it working again?” said Adam, his own torch searching out the dark corners of the large room, the numerous doorways leading off to other mysterious places. It had all been cleared, of course, in a week-long frenzy of zed slaughter.
“Anything’s possible,” said Allen. “You know that. Just some things take more time than others. What do you think, what would we need to do?”
Adam paused for a moment as he looked around the many boxes and valves and pipes and wires of the basement. “Well, I guess somewhere is a generator. We would need to find that, and get that working. Then we would need to get some fuel. Check the fuses. Too many unknowns at the moment, Dad. But, find the generator first.”
Allen nodded. “Sounds good. What about the water?”
Adam walked to the walls and ran his hand across the damp bricks. “I think we are under the water table? Could we get some pipes down here, under pressure? I don’t know.”
Allen smiled. “That’s how everything always starts. We don’t know. Then we try, and one day, we do know. Maybe you can get started on finding the generator?”
Adam smiled. “I can do that.”
Allen turned to walk away.
“Wait!” shouted Adam. “Where are you going?” His face crumpled, almost in despair.
Allen rushed to his son. He hugged him. “Hey, hey big man, I’m not going anywhere, I’m just walking over there, to that corner, look, where the fuses are.”
“Ok,” nodded Adam, his breathing heavy. “You’re not leaving me are you?”
“No. No way,” said Allen hugging his son tight. “I’m never leaving you again. You know that. I’ve promised you that.” He took his son’s shoulders and held him out at arm's length. “It’s you and me from now, you got that? You and me.”
Adam allowed himself a smile, relief apparent in his face. His breathing slowed. “Ok, sure. You and me, Dad. And Harriet.”
Allen smiled. He hugged Adam again. “Ok, I’m just going to check the fuses. Just over there,” he pointed out the breaker board on the far wall.
Nine floors, fifty rooms on each floor. Four hundred and fifty rooms in all. Andy counted off the current occupants in his head; One room for him. One for Abdul, one for Dean, one for Harriet, Allen and Adam, one for Jack, Grace, and Annie, and one for Ellie and Eddy. Just six rooms.
“We got space for another four hundred and forty-four guests, Abdul.”
Abdul limped over to join Andy by the lift on the ninth floor. “I like it how it is, just now,” said Abdul.
“I think I do, too,” said Andy. His mind quickly flitted across memories of his wife, dead years ago. To Ash, dead a few months ago. Warren, Crowe. Everyone he knew had died. Was he interested in letting anyone else in? Starting again? What about just keeping it like it was?
“Do you think we could survive, just us?” said Andy.
“Until a larger group arrives,” said Abdul.
There was always a larger group. Until it imploded, like Unity.
“Come on, let's get back downstairs, it’ll be dinner time soon. I think we’re finished up here now, nothing more useful to find.” Andy picked up the bag of soap, sheets, toothbrushes, nail clippers. The disposable paraphernalia of a hotel suddenly had value, like anything from the world before. It all had value, in one way or another.
The stairwell echoed, the sixties decorated brown tiles bouncing their shuffling footsteps straight back at them.
“You said you had a group before you came here?” said Andy.
Abdul nodded. “Yes. About thirty miles away. They might still be there.”
“Why hasn’t Allen gone to find them?”
“I don’t know,” said Abdul. “Perhaps he’s tired of moving. Tired of searching. He’s found his son. Travel is risk these days.”
“Everything’s risk,” said Andy. But he understood. Why leave here, where they were safe for today? That was worth a lot, to be safe just for today. The people of Unity had taken it for granted. Safety was always taken for granted. Even in this world, the citizens had grown used to where they were and allowed the rot to set in. All blind to it until the whole thing went up in flames.
“Ask him,” said Abdul.
“Eh?”
“Ask Allen. About the other group. I haven’t, and I don’t think the others know about them. Ask him.”
“Sure, I’ll mention it to him,” said Andy, knowing he wouldn’t.
Harriet laid out the children's books on the thin office table that headed the hotel’s conference room. Corporate greys and browns characterized the room. Plain and dull, functional and out of date. A tired old space. If this was going to be a classroom, she w
ould need to brighten it up. The only saving grace was the full windows that looked out over the harbor of Tulloch Bay. With that and some nice posters, she was sure she could make it cozy, pretty, bright. Fun. That was it. Fun - it would be nice to have some fun.
She rearranged the books in a fan like display. That arrangement led to some of the bright covers being covered, so she lined them up instead, exposing the covers, in rows and columns until they covered the table. She hoped she had gauged the books right. During her raids of Tulloch’s bookshops, she had gone by the age guides; baby books for Eddy, 7+ for Annie and 11+ for Adam.
Thinking of everything the children been through, Harriet sat down and sighed. They had seen things that most adults in the world before never even knew existed. What the hell would Annie see in The Cat with the Hat, or what would Adam think of the adventures of Alex Rider?
Pain welled in her stomach and spread up through her chest. She crossed her arms, trying to keep it in, but too late, she started to cry. Those poor children. What life would they have, what life had they had already?
Heavy grey clouds rolled in from the horizon, it looked like rain. The winter would be here soon, and they would be holed up in this hotel like rats.
“Come on, pull yourself together,” said Harriet to herself. This was how it was. This was how it was going to be. She was alive, the children were alive. She was going to give them whatever childhood she could. She was going to do her best to rescue it for them.
She thought of her upbringing in the lower middle-class suburb, in their two up two down seventies estate house. Her Dad had been a misery, and her Mum had drunk too much, but in a respectable middle-class way that never escalated to full meltdown. Just enough to hold a distance between her and the rest of the family. Her brother, a typical delinquent; her Dad, tuned out and switched off. She hadn’t been happy, but she had survived. The world was different now, but did that mean it would be worse? Did it have to be? Adam had his Dad, and now, his Mum, sort of. Was that what she was? The relationship with Sergeant Allen had almost seemed inevitable; their shared love for Adam had spilled over to each other, a calling for a family unit that was impossible to ignore. Adam looked more than happy with the arrangement.
He still called her Harriet, though. But that was right, wasn’t it? If she wanted to be his Mum, she would have to prove it.
The Five Find Outers. The Secret Seven. The Famous Five. She looked at the old-fashioned books of incredible adventure that had seen her through a lackluster childhood. They had lifted her from a world that left her wanting and brought her to a place of magic, of innocence, of true love and warmth.
There was a knock on the door, and Adam popped his head around the corner. “Can we come in, Miss?” he said, laughing.
“Of course you can,” she said, smiling.
Adam walked in, holding his Dad’s hand. The fearless boy she had known in the Wilds, who had protected her so many times, was gone. Or maybe just hiding. Either way, he needed her now.
Adam walked to the front of the class, followed by his Dad, and Annie, who was holding Jack’s hand. No Ellie and Eddy.
Allen came over and looked at the books. “Good choices,” he said.
“You think? I was scared they might be a bit… well, you know, childish,” she said.
Allen shook his head and gave Harriet a gentle hug. “Let’s let them be children again,” he whispered.
Allen squeezed her arm as he turned to the two children, now sitting at the front of the conference room. “Now you two behave yourselves,” he said smiling. “And do everything Miss Harriet tells you to do."
Annie laughed. Adam rolled his eyes.
Jack gave Annie a kiss. “You’ll be ok here with Harriet and Adam, won’t you?”
Annie nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Daddy.”
“Yes you will,” said Jack. He turned to Harriet. “Thanks for this. It’s a great idea.”
“We’ll see,” said Harriet.
“Come on, Jack,” said Allen, smiling at Harriet as he turned to leave. “Class has started.”
Jack and Allen left.
The two children looked at Harriet, their faces open and waiting. Expectant.
“I used to love this book when I was a little girl. It’s called the Magic Faraway Tree, and it’s by a lady called Enid Blyton.” She picked up the book. “I hope it’s not too young for you, Adam, or…” she stopped. Adam’s face had a gentle peace upon it. He didn’t care if the book was too young for him. It didn’t matter. He needed this place, to be a young boy again.
“Ok, I’ll begin,” said Harriet, pulling her chair around, so she was next to Adam and Annie. She opened the book. “Once upon a time…”
Eddy, in his little white one piece, took his first steps across the car park. Four or five steps away from Ellie. As he stumbled, she grabbed him and lifted him up, hugging him tightly. She laughed, “Well done, little man, well done.” She looked up at the side of the old concrete hotel. No one was in the windows, no one was in the car park, no one had seen Eddy take his steps apart from her.
His Dad should have seen them if the world hadn’t been so cruel. And if that cruel world had given itself a break for just a minute, then at least Mac and Angie would have been around to see Eddy’s first steps. But the world was cruel, with no sign of letting up any time soon.
“You’re a clever boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are!” she said snuggling Eddy against the brisk cold of the day. Sunny, clear and cold. True autumn day. They thought it was mid-November sometime, but no one really knew. Did it even matter? If it was cold, it was cold. She liked to get Eddy outside every day though, breath the air, let him see there was a world outside their latest hiding place. Hopefully, he would get older (she took nothing for granted anymore), and he would walk tall, and then run, and somehow get strong. He would later find a better place to live, a better place for them all. Unencumbered by memories of the past, he would be better equipped to live in this new world, to understand what needed to be done to survive. No gnawing eternal melancholy at all the loss. His life was a blank canvas, to start again. For the human race to start again. How many babies were there? That was where the future lay.
Eddy let out a small cry - he knew nothing of his destiny and the grand hopes placed on him by his lost mother.
What had happened to her? When did she become so cold? Both Andy and Abdul had let it be known they were interested. They would though, wouldn’t they? A single woman, the end of the world. As sure as nature was nature, it would happen. Hence Grace and Jack, Allen and Harriet.
Not for her though. She wasn’t ready, she didn’t care for any of it, of giving her heart and her soul to anyone else. Maybe, if time called for it, she would trade protection for her boy for the intimacy it entailed; but that wasn’t required now.
Wasn’t that what she had done with Dalby - could she ever trust her own mind ever again?
“Come on, let’s get inside,” she walked towards the hotel’s cafe bar, which took up this side of the bottom floor. She was starting to get into that place in her mind, the dark place. It had taken her so long to get out last time.
She could barely remember being found by Allen, back on the day Unity imploded. All she could place was staring at Chris, the young man she had hated for so long, who had suddenly saved her from Dalby, the man she thought she had loved for so long. Funny how things change.
Chris’s eyes had been still, and deep, oh so deep; almost like there was peace there. A slight smile on his lips. She had stared at that young face for what seemed forever. She hadn’t looked at Dalby once - it was enough to know he was dead.
Chris could have run. Why did he give it all to save her and Eddy? For the answer, she knew she only had to look into her own heart. The intense and never-ending pain of regret could make you do anything.
Allen - if it had been him - had picked her up from the floor, and someone had taken Eddy. She remembered crying and shouting about that, she didn’t want anyone t
o touch him apart from her. But they had, and they hadn’t done anything to him. They had helped her, saved her. And here she was, in the Two View’s Hotel, Tulloch Bay, Cornwall.
Her feet echoed in the empty cafe. Small plastic tables and chairs ordered nicely across the brown lino floor; someone had tidied the place up. She suspected Abdul. He was always busy doing something, limping from one spot to another, moving things, fixing things, carrying things, ordering things, like he had to keep moving, lest he caught one of his thoughts.
She looked at her watch, nearly one o’clock. Harriet was doing her story thing with the two older kids. Ellie had told her she wasn’t going to go. What else was she going to do though?
“Come on then Eddy, let’s go and listen to some stories. Maybe you can show everyone your new walking skills.”
Sergeant Allen left the reception of the hotel. The sky glowed a gentle pink orange, as a delicate autumn evening formed like a willow the wisp, wrapping itself around the promontory. The road from the hotel led to town, where white and crooked buildings clung to the sides of the hill. All empty, all bereft of life. Cold, now. Lonely.
Although, things moved. When Allen lifted his binoculars to his eyes, there was just enough light to see the dead, mumbling and shambling through the old crooked streets. Did they ever die for good? thought Allen. There must be an end point, some point at which their bodies just fell apart. Surely…
Because if they didn’t, then this was it. How long would it take to kill them all? How long would it be before all the combined efforts of the remaining humans of the world, killed all the zeds? How many were there? The billions of humans distilled into a writhing, living dead mass. How many in the cities of the world, entwined within the concrete and stuck places of dark alleyways and skyscraper basements and penthouse flats? How many in the forests of the world, bumping through the green and the trunks, tripping over roots to climb along the flora and be covered in leaves until an unwitting traveler found his ankle clamped by slimy and sharp teeth, the waiting beast awakened? How many in the deserts, covered in sand drifts that a few hundred years in the future would be revealed by a caravan of nomads, decimated in the night after their uncovering catalyst of camel’s hooves? How many at the top of mountains, disabled through broken legs after their two hundred feet falls across groggy and angry rocks? How many in the frozen wastelands of the earth - the great north and south, locked under snow and ice, waiting for the next global warming? How many under the sea, lost and wandering the millions of miles under terrible pressure and darkness, forming their own shoals of death, marauding through the corals and the fish to arise en masse on a tropical beach and destroy the gentle civilizations that had built there? How many left?
The Fall Series (Book 3): The Fence Walker Page 42
