Prey for the Dead_Book Three

by C. A. Earl

  ‘Bloody hell’ cursed Paige, still lying prone at the top of the slope, hearing every muffled sound as a fanfare of trumpets. Rising to a crouch and backing away from the fence, she headed down toward the cluster of trees with Ben right behind her.

  In the seconds that it took for them to get there, both Paige and Ben were met with a gruesome sight. Four of the seven former bus passengers were holding the creature’s limbs while Dave Tattersall was repeatedly smashing a large rock into its snarling skull. On the fifth strike the thing’s cranium caved in, turning its diseased brain to mush and making one bulbous, gelatinous eye pop from its socket. Half of the group spun away in revulsion as the monster stopped moving.

  ‘Fuck’ muttered Sam Rickard, letting go of one of the limp arms. Paige moved past the scrum of people and stopped in her tracks, scanning from left to right for other dangers. Sure enough, approaching from around thirty feet away was another stumbling figure. Reaching down, she drew a large screwdriver from her belt and then leaned against the nearest tree.

  Ben watched as the spiky-haired young woman moved around the trunk and out of sight, reappearing seconds later behind another trunk ten feet away. The zombie, coming at them groaning and gurgling, was close enough to be seen in all its disgusting detail now. A stained shirt, ripped open to the waist, revealed mottled skin bloated with infection while dark blood and pus oozed from a dozen festering wounds. Lank wisps of shoulder-length hair and two drooping breasts declared the thing a former woman, although all other traces of femininity had long since departed.

  -Thunk!-

  In one sweeping movement, Paige stepped from her hiding place and jammed the screwdriver into the side of the thing’s head. The weapon entered through its ear, piercing flesh and cartilage on its way to the brain. The ravaged body stiffened and fell to one side, dropping to the ground like a lifeless mannequin. Without any hesitation, Paige leaned over and wiped the end of the screwdriver on its shirt before turning to face the others.

  ‘That’s how to do it’ she mumbled. ‘No fuss, no muss.’

  Ben gave a weak smile and looked at the rest of the group. They were all smiling too - if nervously - apart from Dave Tattersall. He was chewing his lip in annoyance, his Alpha Male ambitions having taken yet another hit. He was one to keep an eye on, thought Ben; like Gaz Selby on day one, and like Tony Skinner. The fact that this particular man was now in possession of a pistol was more than a little unnerving.

  ‘It’s okay’ gasped one of the other members of the group, emerging from the foliage at the edge of the tree line. ‘I just checked. The soldiers haven’t moved. I don’t think they heard anything.’ The man’s name was Tom, although Ben couldn’t remember his surname. He was only just over five feet tall, with a mop of curly brown hair and a deep scar in his cheek caused by flying glass from the bombings on day one.

  ‘I think we’d know it already if they had’ said Paige, slipping the screwdriver back under the loop of her belt. ‘We’ve got to be more careful.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked Ben, looking down at his watch.

  ‘We sit tight. I reckon we’ve got about half an hour. Hopefully, there’ll be no more of those things to worry about in the meantime. Everyone pick a direction and keep an eye out, just in case.’

  As the others settled down (begrudgingly, in Dave Tattersall’s case) Paige walked to the edge of the trees and peered through the nodding foliage. The elevated view up to the fence didn’t tell her much, but at least there wasn’t a troop of armed soldiers rushing to get down to them.

  ‘So’ whispered Ben, appearing beside her. ‘I’m intrigued. What did you do before all this?’

  Paige looked a little embarrassed. ‘Um, believe it or not, I designed and sold T-shirts online. Just fun stuff really, but it made enough money to pay the rent. Can’t say that it was much of a business, but it was mine...’

  Ben stared blankly ahead. ‘I know the feeling. I used to be a commercial artist. Well, at least I don’t have to worry about deadlines anymore...’

  ‘No’ mumbled Paige. ‘Just dead people.’

  At that moment Ben’s thoughts drifted to Katie and the very difficult conversation that Ashley would have had with her after arriving back at the house with the other passengers. He winced. Despite the task ahead, he didn’t envy the Scotsman having to explain everything to her one bit. He hated the fact that she would be worried out of her mind but hoped that she would understand. If he was lucky, he might even get the chance to look into those big blue eyes once more.

  Just then Paige rubbed her brow, the action getting his attention. ‘Just one other thing, Ben. If we’re going to try this then you obviously can’t do it dressed like that.’

  Ben looked down at his soldier’s uniform and then back over his shoulder. Paige followed suit and both found their eyes drawn to the quiet, unassuming figure of the straw-haired Sam Rickard. Looking back at each other, they nodded at exactly the same time.

  Five minutes later Ben found himself among the shadows of the trees dressed in a pair of black jeans and a grey sweatshirt. Sam’s trainers were too small, so another of the group offered up theirs in exchange for Ben’s heavy boots. Ben was just tying up the laces when he noticed Dave Tattersall lumbering toward him.

  ‘Listen’ grumbled the larger man, waiting for Ben to stand up before getting uncomfortably close to his face. ‘If you get a chance - you fucking kill that Sawyer bastard. You hear me?’

  Glaring back at him, Ben nodded. ‘After what he’s done, it won’t be a problem for me.’

  As Dave turned away Paige appeared, hands on her hips. ‘Something’s not quite right’ she said, looking Ben up and down and following it up with: ‘I’ve got it.’ Crouching, she picked up two big handfuls of moist earth and damp leaves.

  ‘What’s that for?’ asked Ben.

  ‘You’re way too clean. You at least need to look like you’ve been living rough.’ Standing back up, she stepped forward and slapped her hands against his sweatshirt before smearing them over the fabric. A few feet away, Sam Rickard gave a slightly dejected look.

  ‘Sorry mate’ apologised Ben. ‘Hope this wasn’t your favourite top.’

  ‘Okay’ said Paige, wiping the last bit of dirt from her fingers onto Ben’s cheeks and then rubbing her hands together. ‘That’s it. Now you look the part, like you’ve been sleeping rough for a bit. When they take you in you’re gonna have to pretend that you’re a bit dazed, maybe a bit dehydrated. That way, if they ask you anything, you’ll be justified in taking your time to answer. Got it? Right. Okay, now we just have to wait...’

  Sam Rickard, now dressed in the soldier’s uniform, backed away to the edge of the tree line. ‘I’ll let you know when they come out’ he said, slipping half-out into the sunlight.

  ‘Okay, but make sure you don’t get seen, even with that uniform on’ warned Paige. ‘We can’t afford any screw-ups now.’

  Sam nodded and crouched lower before pushing through the branches and gliding toward the foot of the slope. As he crawled up it Ben turned away and eased himself down against the nearest and broadest tree trunk, unable to suppress a slight groan at the ache in his weary bones.

  ‘Christ, I’m getting old.’

  Paige didn’t reply but instead looked around at the five others. They had, as she had previously requested, each taken up a position, sitting or standing, covering every possible direction. If the dead (or anyone else) were wandering nearby then one thing was for sure; this group would not be taken by surprise. Her eyes did another full sweep of the area and then fell back on Ben as he looked at his watch for the umpteenth time.

  She took a deep breath. The original, rather hastily concocted plan had involved Ashley leaving the vulnerable passengers with Ben’s wife and then joining them back here with as many able volunteers and weapons as he could gather. If there were no holdups then she expected to see the Scotsman within the next hour. Now, with a new plan ready to play out, it would be a waiting game to see what Ben
could achieve on the inside.

  This would be their day of destiny.

  ~ 11 ~

  Matt Reilly knocked back a final mouthful of strong, earthy coffee and reclined in his chair. The leisure centre cafe, modified to accommodate higher numbers, resonated around him with mumbling chatter among the sounds of scraping cutlery and chinking crockery. The hubbub could have come from any morning in any cafe before the world had turned to shit...

  ‘Alright Matt?’ came a gruff voice from behind him, followed by a firm slap on his shoulder. ‘Didn’t realise you were still here.’

  The voice belonged to Ray Beckwith, a square-jawed fortysomething local ex-boxer that Matt had known quite well even before the bombs had started to fall. Unbeknown to Ray, Matt had known the man’s young, recently deceased wife even better.

  ‘Should be going tomorrow’ replied Matt. ‘Hoping for somewhere near the coast.’

  The larger man shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Wish they’d let me know when I’m s’posed to go. I’m getting fuckin’ sick and tired o’ this place.’

  ‘Better than being out there with those things’ answered Matt. ‘Anyway, it should only be a few more days at the most’ he added, looking around the roomful of tables where men, women and a handful of children were enjoying the earliest of four breakfast shifts. ‘And at least it’s a lot better in here than it was.’

  The other man acknowledged Matt’s comment, recalling the first few days at the centre when there was barely room to breathe.

  ‘Saw your girlfriend go earlier.’

  Matt scowled. ‘She wasn’t my girlfriend.’

  ‘Right, right. You knew who I was talking about though, you dirty dog.’

  After a lengthy pause Matt leaned back, trying but failing to hide his annoyance. ‘All the best, Ray’ he said, suddenly taking the other man’s hand and shaking it vigorously. ‘I’ve got a fair bit to do today so I might not see you before I go. Hope everything works out for you.’

  Ray Beckwith looked momentarily confused but gave a slow nod and retrieved his hand before backing away. ‘Yeah, yeah. You too. Look after yourself...’

  As the other man faded into the background, Matt pushed his chair back and stood up, empty plate and mug in hand. The constant chatter continued around him as the sense of self-loathing returned, making him pause again. He had been attracted to Paige and clearly that was no secret, even though she had shown little interest in him beyond having someone to share a joke with. There were things he couldn’t forget, however. The brutal deaths of his wife and son were still there in his head, as visceral as ever, making him hate himself. He had been a cheating bastard, of that there was no doubt, but could it be that he was actually developing a conscience?

  ‘Get a move on’ spoke a gravelly but muffled voice at his shoulder, making him jump. Matt turned to see his own reflection in the dark goggles of one of the black-garbed soldiers. As usual the soldier’s features were obscured by a mask. ‘Clean your plate and get back to the main hall.’

  Matt’s eyes narrowed. ‘I was gonna get some fresh air first.’

  The soldier tilted his head slightly to the left. ‘Then do it. This is the first shift. Other people have to eat. You’re holding things up by standing here.’

  ‘Okay, okay’ said Matt, leaving the surly soldier behind and moving quickly away past one occupied table after another. Heading to the far corner of the room, he joined a line of people queuing by a long trough of soapy water. As the line moved forward he put his plate and mug into the water and cleaned the items with one of many sponges floating on the surface. Shuffling along, he soon reached the end of the trough where a huge table was being monitored by four volunteers. They took the items from him and placed them vertically on a drainage rack, leaving him to wander out into the foyer.

  There were around thirty people already there, half of whom had formed another queue near the main entrance. Two soldiers stood either side of the double doors, regulating the numbers going outside while other people were content just to turn right and head back to the sports hall where dormitory-style accommodation awaited them. As usual for this time of day, yet another queue had formed outside the toilets further up the corridor. Scratching the back of his neck, Matt joined the line of people waiting to go outside.

  As the queue inched forward, his eyes wandered to the collection of framed posters and photographs on the wall to his left. Despite seeing them every day, he somehow always managed to find something new that he hadn’t noticed before. Today it was the sheer glee on a teenage gymnast’s face as she proudly held up a winner’s medal and bouquet of flowers. Matt wondered at that moment if he would ever see such a joyous expression on any face ever again.

  Suddenly, a buzz of activity near the main doors made him face front. One of the soldiers stationed by the entrance had moved further inside and was telling the people at the front of the queue to move back.

  ‘Against the wall!’ he shouted, arms gesticulating like an air-traffic controller. ‘Get back against the wall!’

  Matt instinctively did as instructed, with the people in front and behind following suit. As they stared toward the double doors another soldier burst through them, followed by two more dragging a limp figure between them. They rushed past the line of people and at that moment Matt caught a glimpse of the new arrival.

  ‘Oh my God. Ben!’

  ‘Stay back!’ shouted the unburdened soldier, moving in front of Matt and extending a gloved hand to push him back against the wall. Behind him, the other soldiers continued to carry Ben away.

  ‘That’s my brother! That’s my fucking brother!’

  ‘I said stay back!’

  Ducking under the outstretched arm, Matt shoved the soldier aside and took off down the hall, the other civilians pressing tightly against the wall as he sped past them.

  ‘Ben! Ben!’ he yelled, closing to within six feet when he was tackled from behind and bundled to the floor. Even as he hit the deck - and he hit it hard - he knew that it was the soldier from the cafe.

  ‘Stay down!’ growled the man behind the mask, his gruff voice removing any doubt as to his identity. With his knee in Matt’s back and his forearm pressing down a little too excessively, he forced the other man’s nose against the cold floor.

  ‘Urghhhh!’

  Unable to move, Matt was suddenly aware of a pair of shoes directly in front of his face - immaculate, highly polished brown brogues that could only belong to one man. Feeling the pressure on him ease, he slowly craned his neck upward. Staring back down at him, resplendent in a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, was Henry Sawyer.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ asked Sawyer, his voice high-pitched yet somehow still commanding. The soldier immediately stepped back, standing to attention.

  ‘Sir, this man was interfering with protocol. He was trying to hinder us bringing in someone from outside.’

  Matt rose slowly from the floor, one hand waving for attention while struggling to catch his breath.

  ‘It’s...my...brother’ he gasped, only now aware that Ben had disappeared from sight, presumably having been taken into one of the side rooms. Looking around, he noted that every occupant of the hallway had now gathered behind him and was hanging on his every word. Henry Sawyer paused, realising the significance of a new arrival as did every other person present. Where there was one survivor, there might be more...

  ‘You understand the necessary procedures’ stated Sawyer, looking first at Matt and then the questioning faces behind him. ‘We have them for a reason. I know many of you have relatives that are still unaccounted for, but we must maintain our discipline to achieve the best outcome.’

  Matt breathed in deeply, trembling while trying hard to remain calm. ‘Can...I...please...see...my...brother?’ he asked, enunciating every word as deliberately as possible. Again Sawyer paused, folding his arms.

  ‘You know the rules. Medical assessment first.’

  The man looked even smaller than normal, thou
ght Matt, especially since ditching the yellow hazmat suit he had worn for the first few days. Now he looked like someone from a solicitor’s office; the sort of thin-faced, thin-haired fortysomething who always worked at weekends and had a hard-on for legal jargon. Up to this point his regimented approach had worked, Matt had to give him that. Now though, his officious nature and the almost bullying approach of his soldiers were beginning to irk. Feeling the crackle of tension in the air, Matt decided to keep the pressure on.

  ‘If he’d been bitten you wouldn’t have allowed him in here. You’d have shot him on sight. I’ll put on one of your biohazard suits if you want me to, but I want to see my brother now.’

  Sawyer’s tongue flicked, serpent-like, over his bottom lip. ‘Your name’s Reilly, isn’t it? When are you scheduled to leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow. That’s when it was going to be, anyway.’

  ‘Very well. If your brother passes fit and is able to travel, I’ll make sure that you’re both on the same bus.’

  Matt frowned, confused by the sudden about-turn, an unexpected bend from the usually inflexible Henry Sawyer. ‘Thank you’ he mumbled.

  Sawyer nodded and then turned away. ‘Come then. Let’s hear what he has to say.’

  Ben Reilly’s heart was thumping. Leaning his head against the wall of the shower, he savoured the flow of the water for an extra few seconds before reaching down to turn it off. It was cold but invigorating, and he could feel his senses sharpening again. Of course, it hadn’t helped that the soldiers had ‘accidentally’ battered his head against the outer doors, knocking him half-unconscious. That meant that he was actually non compos mentis when they brought him in instead of just pretending to be. Unfortunately, it also meant that he had been in no shape to take note of the layout and the numbers of soldiers as planned. He couldn’t even be sure if he had really heard his brother’s voice or just imagined it...