‘What else?’ Angel looked concerned.
‘I have enough diesel for one more scout. That’s it then, we are on Shank’s pony.’
‘Shank’s pony?’ Naomi didn’t understand.
‘On foot, we will be walking.’
‘That’s not an option.’ Angel looked across to check on Harry James. ‘There are too many of us, to many things to carry.
‘Well there’s no fuel out there.’ Roger opened his hands. ‘Nothing. The Pure Bloods stripped the place. As they swept up the country they took everything. Food, vehicles, fuel. Anything of use.’
‘There’s another way.’ Angel said.
‘What?’
‘Yanto’s way.’
‘Explain?’ Roger asked.
‘Horseback. We must go backwards before we can go forwards. Think past before we can make a future. Horses were the only way to get around a hundred odd years ago.’
Roger slowly nodded. ‘Yes, that’s a good plan.’ He looked skyward. ‘I can’t ride though.’
‘Or me.’ Naomi said. ‘Don’t like them too much either.
‘Well I can teach you, it’s easy.’
‘What about him?’ Roger pointed to Harry James. ‘We need to discuss what we are going to do with him.’
‘And Jake.’ Angel walked slowly towards Roger.
‘Jake?’
‘We need to think that he will make his way to Old Mill. We need to set up some signs, so he knows we are alive.’
Roger took Angel’s softer, colder hand. ‘Of course. He will find us, I don’t doubt that.’
‘He’d better.’ Angel again swallowed hard, her voice nearly cracking. ‘I have invested a lot of heartache over the last few days, so that bastard better still be alive.’
Roger smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘He will be, I promise you that.’
***
‘Vehicles closing in. At twelve o clock.’ A man with a polished, shaven head pointed in the direction of the long, straight road ahead. His white boiler suit undone to his chest, the temperature in the transit van was getting unbearable.
‘Yes, I have a visual.’ The woman with close cropped, dark hair and in a matching boiler suit, confirmed what the driver had seen,
‘It’s a hot one today.’ The man pulled at his collar to let some air in. ‘Can’t see why we shouldn’t have the windows down.’
‘It’s direct orders from the Doyen.’ The woman shifted in her seat, she wasn’t one for small talk.
‘Well it’s a stupid order.’ His comment made the woman raise her eyebrows. ‘We have the only van with no air con. Fucking stupid rule if you ask me.’
‘Well I’m not hot, so shut up and drive.’ Emma Davis shook her head. Her associate had been chipping away since they had left Bristol, more than three hours ago. She wasn’t use to dealing with idiots. Not before the dust had settled, or after.
She had been picked up by a scouting party, just outside Bude, more than four weeks ago, and she had enjoyed her work immensely. The Doyen and his movement appealed to her. She liked the thought of a new start, a clean slate. The country had been going to the dogs for some time, so this was as better time as any to separate the curds from the whey.
Collecting small pockets of survivors and initiating them had been the best bit. If they didn’t conform, well they were no use to the Purebloods.
She had got her hands dirty too. Firing an automatic rifle had given her a thrill, a sexual thrill. More than any man had ever given her in her thirty one years on this miserable planet. Not now though, things were on the up. Okay, she had lost her business; there wouldn’t be much call for professional catering and events planning in this new world, but she liked this new way of life, it suited her.
Anyhow Willoughby liked her. He had seen something in her. The Doyen’s second in command had even given her some men, and a few vans, to lead her own scouting party. She stroked her machine gun as it sat on her lap. She really did like this raw new world. Driving around England, killing anything that was naked, and picking up survivors. If they didn’t want to conform, well kill them too.
‘I’ll flash them to stop?’ The driver asked Davis
‘Yes, park in the middle of the road so they can’t pass.’ She checked her door mirror to make sure the other two transit vans were getting into position.
The van slowed down to a halt and Emma Davis opened the door, jumping out onto the road. She released the safety catch of her rifle. She had been caught unawares before, when two female infected humans appeared from nowhere to attack her at a road block in Yeovil. Now she was always ready.
As the two vehicles approached she could make out a battered old Range Rover and Volvo estate. Davis waved her hands to slow them down and they both stopped about twenty yards from her.
Behind her, three more men in white overalls started to walk in past her, towards the vehicles.
‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’ A voice yelled from the Range Rover.
‘Up north.’ One of the men said to Davis on hearing the accent.
‘Yeah, bloody northerners.’
‘Get out of the car please.’ Davis’s driver barked, as he walked closer to the dirty Range Rover.
‘He’s got a gun!’ Another shaven headed male shouted as he noticed a shotgun appear from the driver’s window.
All the Purebloods dropped to one knee and pointed their automatic weapons at the driver.
‘Drop your weapon or we will shoot.’ Davis ordered. ‘We mean you no harm, just a check point to make sure you are not carrying any infected cargo over our borders.’
‘Borders?’ The older driver called back. He then lowered his gun.
Emma Davis stood up and told her men to lower their guns. She walked over to the range Rover, her finger never leaving the trigger as the machine gun was lowered at her side.
‘What border?’
Davis could now see the man. He was in his sixties, a ruddy complexion. His accent put him somewhere in Northumberland.
‘We have this section of the country cleaned up, sir. You won’t find any Infected humans south of Bath.’ She stood close to the vehicle, watching his hands at all times.
‘Who are you?’ The old man scratched his head.
‘We are an organisation called the Purebloods, sir. All survivors have the same blood type.’ Before she could finish, a woman in the passenger seat leant across.
‘I know that, I have been working on that theory myself.’
Davis was a little taken aback. ‘Okay. Where are you from?’
The old man was getting agitated. ‘From all over the place, mainly the North. Look we need medical attention. The man that was leading our small group got attacked.’
‘By one of the Infected?’ Davis asked.
‘Yes, it’s mayhem back there. Thousands of them.’ He tapped his hands on the steering wheel. ‘Can we get past? We were heading for Wales.’
‘That’s a negative.’ Davis could see they were in a rush. ‘A lot of the Infected have been pushed into South Wales, across the bridge. The area is now cut off.’
‘Look, we need to find an army base, a hospital.’ The old man started playing with the gear stick.
‘I’m a trainee nurse, but I need more equipment.’ The woman in the passenger seat once again leant across.
‘You’re a nurse?’ Davis asked.
‘She’s more than that. She has been quite brilliant in holding us all together.’ The old man smiled, but it was soon cut short. ‘Look, we really need to push on.’
‘Medical workers are priority. You can all get an escort back to Bristol.’ Davis called one of the men over.
‘Oh, okay, we won’t say no to that.’ The old man had the wind taken out of his sails.
‘Yes?’ The man who had jogged over to Davis was now standing next to her by the range Rover.
‘Take these two vehicles back to base. We have a nurse, and we also have an injured party. Make it a priority that she gets back in one piece.’ Davi
s pointed to the female passenger. ‘We don’t want a repeat of last week, okay?’
The shaven headed man nodded. He then bent down to face the old driver, to give him his remit about heading back. ‘Okay Mr, what’s your name?’
‘Rosser.’ The old farmer extended his hand. ‘Jeremiah Rosser. Most of us have come from a camp in York.
Chapter Three
Jake Meadows stroked his daughter’s head as she slept. He had been dreaming for weeks about being with her, and now as they both lay under the afternoon sky he felt as if the jigsaw was nearly complete. There was only one piece missing, Angel.
‘Come on Barnacle, we have to move on.’ He gave her a gentle nudge.
Amber Meadows stirred and rubbed her eyes. ‘Daddy, where are we?’ She slowly sat up.
‘In between Newport and Cardiff I think.’ Jake wasn’t a hundred percent sure himself.
They had both been walking for three days solid. The first night they had spent on the river bank, but the following morning, instead of trying to cross the river Severn as planned, the situation got worse. Hordes of the Infected were being pushed up onto the Second Severn Crossing, and they began to spill out onto the welsh side of the bridge.
Jake had no other option but to gather his daughter and their belongings, and move up river to find a suitable place to cross. That was a day lost, it was useless.
The old Severn Bridge had collapsed, and hundreds of crazed savages were rampaging across the land and heading to Chepstow. It was too dangerous to head north, so Jake changed tactics.
He remembered that further south in Swansea there had been ferry crossings. There was bound to be some vessels he could navigate over the Bristol Chanel to finally meet up with the others.
Snaking their way back south they had cut in land towards Cwmbran, and then followed the old canal down to Newport. That had taken them two days and Amber was now getting tired. They both hadn’t eaten properly, and were basically living on bars of chocolate and cans of soft drinks.
The stench of rotting bodies constantly polluted the air, and packs of dogs had started to roam the streets, eating the rancid flesh of their once masters. At first Jake had tried to shield his little girl from the horrific sights they were discovering, but it was getting an impossible task. The closer they got to the cities, and the once overcrowded suburbs, the more bodies were they were stumbling across.
Amber was becoming immune to corpses being opened up on the pavement before her. In fact Jake himself seemed to be more effected by the whole breakdown of society and the constant vision and smell of death. Amber’s innocence was now lost, she had already adjusted.
The two of them continued to walk wearily down what must have been the main high street. Jake noticed a road sign, it read Saint Mellons. He had heard of it but had never been through it.
Saint Mellons was the main town that joined the two cities of Newport and Cardiff. He stopped and looked around; he was fed up with walking. He looked down at his daughter; she was in a worse state. Enough was enough. He needed to find a mode of transport.
Jake had so far avoided doing this as it meant going into garages and near houses. That disturbed the Infected, and with Amber at his side he didn’t want to take any chances. The time had come though. If they were to get to Swansea, and ultimately Old Mill Cottage, they needed a ride.
Holding Amber’s hand as they hopped from house to house, all he came across were cars empty of fuel. Either they had run dry or someone had syphoned the last dregs from each tank. It was no use, he was going to have to look a little deeper.
Walking down a small Cul-De-Sac he picked on the biggest house, which lay at the end. Opening the wrought iron gate he walked precariously up the block paved drive.
‘Are we going to have some lunch, Daddy?’ Amber pulled at his hand as she was dragging her feet.
‘No sweety, we are looking for a nice comfortable car.’
‘Oh yes, I like cars.’ She suddenly picked up her pace.
Stood in front of them both were two large wooden doors which led into a big double garage. There was bound to be something in there for them, Jake felt lucky.
‘Daddy, I can hear noises.’
Jake dreaded a statement like that. He stopped walking so he could listen out.
‘Over there, Daddy.’ Amber whispered, and pointed to the house next door.
She was right. The curtains were twitching, and Jake could make out hands being pressed against the window. The movements were sporadic and clumsy; it could be only one thing.
‘Shall we help them, Daddy?’
‘No. Stay with me.’ Jake yanked her close to him, forgetting how his little girl had survived a week outside on her own.
Pulling at the doors they wouldn’t open. He kept tugging and he could see the bolt starting to buckle. With every heave Jake kept looking over at the window where the knocking was coming from. It then stopped.
With an almighty creak the large wooden doors broke open, and both Jake and Amber were left staring into a big empty garage.
‘For fuck’s sake.’ The disappointment got a hold of Jake and he forgot his daughter was stood next to him.
‘Daddy!’ Amber wasn’t impressed with her father’s language.
‘Sorry Barnacle. I will wash my mouth out, if I can actually find any soap.’
As the dust settled both of them took a few paces forward, and walked into the damp dark garage.
‘Over there, Daddy.’
Jake instantly thought the neighbour had broken free from the house and was heading their way, so he spun around to confront him.
‘No Daddy, over there.’ Amber tried to man handle her dad back to face the garage.
‘What?’ Jakes heart was pounding.
‘There.’ Amber was becoming increasingly frustrated with her dad.
Over in the corner, under a dust sheet, was something big. Big enough to be a vehicle.
Jake ran over and ripped the white cloth from whatever lay underneath.
‘A motorbike!’ Amber shouted, and started to jump up and down.
‘A motorbike.’ Jake wasn’t so enthused. The last time he had ridden one must have been fifteen years ago. This machine certainly didn’t look like the 125cc he had owned back in the day.
‘Can I drive it?’ Amber ran over to the gleaming machine and stroked the leather seat.
‘No.’ Jake laughed. ‘You may certainly not.’ The keys were in the ignition, it was too good to be true. Jake felt as though someone was looking out for them. He liked to think it was his mother.
A noise came from outside and Jake knew they needed to leave fast. He quickly took the Suzuki Bandit off its stand and moved it back and forth; the tank was quite full.
‘Jump on the back and hold on to me as tight as you can.’ He grabbed Amber by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Are you listening to me? You hold on and you never ever let go.’
‘Yes sir.’ Amber saluted her daddy.
Both jumped onto the bike and Jake turned the key. The noise was unbelievable and that was the first thing that concerned him. This beast may get them to Swansea in an hour but it was certainly going to give their position away to anyone that cared.
Releasing the clutch the bike lurched forward, and Jake ever so carefully twisted the throttle.
‘Jesus Christ.’ Jake gasped as the bike shot forward, and before he knew it he was going up the gears and out of the Cul-De-Sac. The speed was breath taking.
‘Woooohooooo!’ Amber hollered as she held on to her daddy for all her life.
‘Don’t let go, Barnacle.’ Jake turned his head and shouted back to his daughter.
Then he twisted the throttle once again and they were off, Swansea bound.
***
Jeremiah Rosser looked out of the window into the dark evening sky. Both he and Sharon Gough had been waiting in the cold, damp, uninspiring corridor for over an hour.
‘What the hell do you think this is all about?’ The
young woman asked.
Jeremiah paused before answering, pondering the question. ‘Fascists?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The way they dress, the shaven heads. Like a fascist party. They even have a leader with a given name. The Doyen.’ Jeremiah moved away from the window. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘I can understand them all dressing the same.’ Sharon stood a little closer to the old farmer so no one could over hear their conversation. ‘It’s the same in any army. Under attack they are easily spotted.’
Jeremiah frowned, she had a point. ‘Guns, there are so many guns.’
‘I wish we had more guns back in York. Don’t you?’
Jeremiah nodded.
‘The world has changed; guns are now part of everyday life.’ Sharon looked at the floor. ‘I don’t agree with that, but you can’t get away from the fact that they’re out there.’ She pointed towards the window. ‘It’s hell on earth.’
A metal door opened at the end of the corridor. A man stood in the doorway and looked at the two survivors stood next to each other.
‘The Doyen will see you now.’
Jeremiah looked at Sharon. He hated being ordered around, especially by someone he knew nothing about.
They both walked up to the doorway where the portly shaven headed man made way for them to enter. Sharon Gough walked into the office first, where the man called The Doyen was sat behind a desk. He opened his hand and motioned to a seat in front of him, Jeremiah followed.
‘Welcome to our Bristol camp.’ He smiled at them both. ‘Miss Gough, they tell me you are a medical worker. Is this true?’
Sharon Gough nodded. ‘Yes. That’s correct.’
‘You have also been working on the blood theory. My advisors say you have come to the same conclusion as my own medical team.’
Again she nodded. ‘Certain blood types have survived, certain types have been poisoned.’
The Dust: Book Three - Sanctum Page 2
