by Ricky Fleet
“No, she can sit there and get cold. She will come back in time,” Peter said and put the cover down, “Shit, where are the keys?”
“Here, don’t worry.” Kurt pulled them out of his pocket. “Do you really think she would have driven off?”
“No, well I don’t think so, but I’m glad you have the key anyway,” Peter told him. In truth, he wouldn’t have put it past her to leave them all stranded.
“Peter, how the hell did you end up with that?” Kurt asked, pointing at the van, meaning Debbie.
“Kurt!” Sarah admonished him. “Don’t be so rude.”
“No it’s ok. We met at university and have been together about six years, she was doing Sociology and I was in Business. We met at a student night in Portsmouth. We were only friends to start with. She didn’t want to be tied down to just one guy,” Peter explained and they tried to be understanding.
“When did she become… difficult?” Gloria tried to be diplomatic and Peter laughed.
“She has always been a bit of a bitch,” he replied and cast an anxious look down the jetty, fearing she would hear him.
“Then why did you stay with her?” Paige asked, genuinely interested in their dysfunctional relationship.
“I guess I was scared to leave. I tried to at the beginning, then she would attack me and threaten to kill herself. I caught her taking a bottle of painkillers once and I just decided to stay and see if she would change if I loved her enough.” Once again, Peter could hear how preposterous he sounded and was grateful his new friends didn’t mock him. Paige stood up and hugged him, pity and sadness for this poor soul pouring forth. Metal clanged as the back doors were slammed shut and they all grimaced and watched for renewed movement on the horizon. Luckily the quick bang wasn’t sufficient for the walking dead to pinpoint the location of the sound and none came to investigate.
“Oh God, she must have seen you hug me,” Peter said with real fear in his voice, he would be made to pay for this.
“Don’t worry. She won’t be touching you again,” Kurt vowed and meant it. He would gladly leave her to fend for herself if she tried anything.
“She just gets angry sometimes,” Peter repeated the same excuse again, the same one that domestic violence victims the world over have used to justify their ill treatment.
“Never. Ok?” Kurt clasped his shoulder and their eyes met. Peter grinned and Kurt smiled back, his mood lightening a bit.
“Dad, we have some stuff!” Sam declared, passing over armfuls of cheap, but spongy life preservers.
“Pillows,” Braiden whispered, pointing at the bright orange padded jackets. He wafted his hand in front of his face to indicate they were not the most pleasantly fragranced headrests they could hope for.
“We also found loads of these.” Sam passed bait and tackle boxes over the side.
“Ok… what do we need these for?” Sarah asked him.
“Mum!” Sam exclaimed as if she was dim witted. “We can use them like bricks and block the opening to keep the wind out and heat in under the roof.”
Braiden started stacking them and spread his arms like a magician’s assistant at the climax, Ta Da! They would probably have enough to close the opening, or at least block it most of the way which would make a real difference in the frigid darkness.
“Great idea, boys,” John told them, patting them on the back and jumping from the boat to help with the collection.
“You know, I think we could use these as body armour,” Kurt mused, holding a life jacket at arm’s length and turning it around. “We have our arms and legs protected but the thick foam pads would protect our backs and chests too.”
“That’s a great idea, we will stink of sea and fish, but at least we can carry our new pillows with us too.” Sarah smiled, happy that Kurt was coming out of his funk and thinking again.
“I think we could all do with something to eat, I shall go and fetch it from the van,” Gloria told them and laid the shotgun on the steering console at the bow of the boat.
“I will come with you,” Kurt said, rising.
“No, I will be fine. I think I need to have a word with our new guest,” Gloria replied and the look on her face made it clear that she wasn’t going to be easy on Debbie. She carefully stepped over the side of the vessel and passed Sam and Braiden who had found more building materials, John shot her a puzzled look.
“Food,” she told him.
“Ah, ok,” he replied and carried on to their temporary home.
Reaching the door to the van, Gloria opened it and found Debbie rummaging through the bags and suitcases. Clothing, food and other belongings were scattered over the floor of the vehicle and Debbie was half finished with stuffing a chocolate bar into her mouth. The expression of being caught started as shock, then fear, then scorn, then anger, a multitude of facial changes in a couple of seconds. She slowly chewed, savouring the melting delicacy and challenging Gloria who ignored the spiteful woman and, instead, leaned in and retrieved a selection of food and a large bottle of clean water for the group.
“Not going to say anything?” sneered Debbie at the old woman, chocolate smeared all over her thin, cruel lips.
Gloria ignored her and took a couple of the thick wool jumpers that had been thrown around in Debbie’s temper tantrum at seeing Peter embraced by Paige. The ex-teacher was used to challenging individuals, differing social backgrounds and personalities were part and parcel of the job role. Debbie was on another level, bordering on sociopathic. Her erratic behaviour and lack of empathy was a dangerous combination in a normal world. In this apocalyptic netherworld it would be catastrophic.
“Don’t you fucking ignore me, you shrivelled old hag!” Debbie was nearly shouting as she leaned forward to deliver the insult.
Gloria reached out and slapped her hard across the face causing chocolate spittle to hit the side of the van and run down in brown streamers. Debbie was momentarily shocked and then looked as if she would launch herself at Gloria.
“Try it!” Gloria hissed and the anger in those words gave Debbie pause, she was unused to being challenged in this way.
“You have an hour, no more, to tidy this mess. If you touch any more of our food while I am gone, if you take a sip of our water, if you touch any of our clothing or supplies I will shoot you dead and throw you in the water for the fish to eat. The next time you touch Peter, or have an outburst that threatens my loved ones, I will feed you to the zombies. Do you understand me?” Gloria threatened and she could see Debbie’s inner turmoil as she weighed the options, finally settling for a glare of hostility and silence. Gloria could deal with filthy looks; she was used to them from wayward pupils.
Satisfied that the point was made, she picked up the items and closed the door. She said finally, “Sixty minutes, tick tock.” The metal latch engaged, sealing Debbie in her metal bubble of poison.
Dinner was cold meat and crackers, nothing extravagant. It filled a hole and provided much needed energy. The sky was beginning to darken, the onset of winter assured that night would draw in earlier and dawn would come later in the days. The cold would sap their will and slow them down. If it was part of God’s plan to make survival as difficult as possible, then he had made a good job of it, Gloria though to herself.
“I should go and check on her,” Peter said, hoping a meal would entice her from the vehicle and into the group.
“I will go, pass me the food,” Gloria offered and could see the look of relief on Peter’s face. Taking the gun which drew a couple of quizzical looks, she made her way to the vehicle, fully expecting for Debbie to be sat on a pile of damaged items and discarded food, or absent altogether, running away from the group in her twisted mental state. Gloria was not going to shoot the girl; it would be far too noisy and messy in their transport. Standing back in case Debbie made to leap from the van and tackle the gun from her, Gloria reached out and in a quick, fluid motion, opened the door and took aim. The back of the vehicle was immaculate, all of the scattered goods ha
d been put away and the cases and bags stacked neatly. Debbie was perched on one, her expression still angry and hateful but it was as nothing to Gloria who simply put the food down and closed the doors once again.
“Did she say anything?” Peter inquired when she returned to their boat.
“No, I am afraid not. She is still sulking at the moment. A drop in temperature will straighten her out,” Gloria informed him with a comforting smile.
“We have laid out the blankets as best we can, we will be sharing body heat tonight. Sorry, everyone,” Kurt stated with embarrassment. He had such a romantic notion in his mind of the soldiers greeting them, taking them in and training them up so they could fight back for humanity. The cold indifference to their plight was haunting him and he was regretting not staying put on the estate, foraging for food where possible. It wasn’t a great existence but it would be better than what they now faced.
“That’s ok, you have got us this far. You will get us to safety,” Sarah encouraged and the group spoke their agreement.
“But I don’t know how we are going to make it to the hospital,” Kurt told them, feeling lost. “There are so many of those things in our way.”
“Don’t worry, we will stick to the back roads and take the fields on foot if necessary. You kept me safe like that remember?” John said, recalling the advice Kurt had conveyed. “The hospital is to the north of the city and may still be secure if the dead remain in the most heavily populated areas.” John meant where there was the most human food.
“Don’t forget we can also take the old smuggler tunnels,” Sam added and they all looked at him. Preparing for another lesson he sat down on the floor and wrapped a duvet around himself, which prompted the rest of the group to do the same. It was like a child’s sleepover but without the popcorn and movies, just the faint cries of the walking abominations carrying on the chill wind.
“During the eighteen hundreds, smugglers used to bring spirits and other contraband through all of the local ports: Pagham, Selsey and Hayling Island. They would set up a torch in a boat and float it to the beach and when the local police would investigate, the illegal stuff would be unloaded elsewhere. The old pubs in Chichester were notorious for having hidden tunnels that spread out like a spider web to other establishments, meaning they could move the goods without being seen. A lot of them still exist and people have been searching for them because of the reported valuables hidden in the darkness,” Sam explained with excitement. He had always loved the thoughts of pirates and their treasure, he had hoped to find the tunnels himself when he grew up and find some gold bullion or jewels. Reality asserted itself once and he stopped smiling, his dreams and ambitions were gone. Water and food were far more valuable than some gaudy trinkets of old.
“Sam, can you remember the names of some of the pubs? Are any of them near the western side of Chichester?” John asked and Sam furrowed his brow in concentration, trying to remember the work sheet he had been given in school.
“Yes! The Beachwood Pub is the closest. It was supposed to be the end of the line before they would load onto horse and cart to distribute to the rest of the country.” Sam clapped his hands together.
“What about to the north?” John continued.
“Umm… sorry, I can’t remember, Grandad. There must be some though,” Sam offered hopefully.
There were several older pubs on the road to Lavant, all with age blackened timbers and thatched roofs, John thought to himself. One of these, the Owl’s Nest, was situated on Spitalfield Road, only two minutes walk from the hospital. It was a long shot, but if they could find a route to it underground, they could make it to the soldiers who had set up at the medical facility.
“Do we use the torches tonight, or one of the lanterns?” Sam asked naively.
“We don’t use anything, mate, it’s a waste of our light,” Kurt told him and hugged his son who looked scared at the thought of spending the night in both freezing cold and pitch black darkness. “Don’t worry, buddy.” Kurt smiled in the fading twilight.
“Look.” Paige pointed to the sky. The clouds were breaking and the crescent moon was glowing coldly, it would give them some small comfort in the coming hours.
The family hunkered down and as the temperature dropped, their initial reluctance to move closer to one another disappeared. Intimacy issues had to be put aside for the greater good, old phobias and insecurities were falling away and they quickly appreciated the warmth and proximity of living beings. Gloria was a light sleeper at the best of times and as they fell asleep one by one, she allowed herself to drift with them. The sound of footsteps on wood roused her from her slumber and she raised the gun, ready to fire, but it was only Debbie. The moon gave her cold features an even more spectral quality and Gloria shivered, seeing no love or emotion in the eyes that regarded her.
“Can I sleep here?” Debbie asked without apology.
“Ok.” Gloria was too tired to argue or refuse. Perhaps the girl would come around in time. Debbie laid down and covered herself with more huffing and puffing than was necessary for the task. Within five minutes she was snoring softly. Gloria unloaded the shotgun, placed the shells in her pocket and closed her eyes. Sleep took her and she was reunited with Albert, but it wasn’t a happy dream. He was one of the shambling corpses, but was able to talk, accusing Gloria of betrayal and infidelity which caused her to shift and whimper in the boat, until John placed a protective arm around her. Snuggling closer, the dream faded and sleep took hold, taking her to a safer place.
Chapter 4
“What the fuck did you do?” Kurt shouted at Debbie, grabbing her and pulling her from the boat.
“Huh, what?” she was ripped from her sleep and looked at the group who stood there accusingly. Confusion took hold as Kurt pulled her unceremoniously down the jetty, the rest followed silently.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” she yelled, finally waking up and pulling free of Kurt’s grip. Gloria had the gun aimed directly at her and this just increased her bafflement. She hated the feeling of being the centre of such hostility, preferring to be the one ridiculing and bullying those around her.
“You have killed us, you fucking bitch, but you can be damned sure you will die first,” Kurt made to throw a punch at the evil woman and she cowered away.
“Wait, what are you talking about?” she cried out, sobbing into her hands.
“Slashing the tyres,” Peter said, joining in with the inquisition, face cold and expressionless.
“What?” Debbie blustered, looking at the vehicles which were lower to the ground than they had been, each tyre was flat and a large gash had been torn in the rubber side walls. “Wait, I didn’t do this!” she pleaded.
“Then who did? Who else could possibly be lurking around wanting to hurt us?” John questioned and they all waited for an answer.
“I promise it wasn’t me. Why would I risk hurting you when it would mean I would die too?” Debbie argued, tears running freely down her cheeks.
“Your tantrums yesterday could have got us killed, why wouldn’t you slash them in one of your rages?” Peter asked and she rose to hit him, the mask of fear replaced by the mask of hatred they were all too used to. Braiden blocked her and threw her back to the hard dock and Peter just looked on, pity on his face.
“How could you let him do that to me?” she demanded, totally ignoring the fact that she would have struck her fiancé if she had been able, her mind was twisted and warped beyond redemption.
“So if not you, then who?” Gloria asked, surveying the surroundings, feeling eyes everywhere but seeing nothing.
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me, please don’t kill me.” She shied away again, adopting a pose to solicit pity, but the group was too shocked and afraid to play her pathetic games. They had no transportation and seven miles to cover of hostile territory. It was a near impossible task. The thought even occurred to Kurt to travel back to the barracks and have the army make a quick, clean end of it.
�
��We can try and see how far we get on the flats?” Sarah suggested, “And then swap to another car we find on the way.”
“It’s our only chance. We can’t reach the cars by the stilt houses even if we wanted to,” John agreed.
They left Debbie on the wooden dock, no one going to her aid to help her stand. She cursed them under her breath and stood up, waiting while the rest of the group collected their belongings and loaded them into the crippled vehicle.
“We have to take it slow, preserve the rubber for as long as possible, keep your eyes open for a suitable replacement,” John told them as they started the Rover and van. Kurt nodded in understanding.
They drove out of the marina, past the raised homes and the clubhouse that was surrounded by the zombies. One final glance at the possible hiding place and they were gone, turning awkwardly onto the main Thorney Road. The rumbling of the flattened rubber was a constant companion as they cruised at ten miles an hour back towards Emsworth with heavy hearts. No one spoke while they all scoured the driveways and side roads for a large enough means of transportation. None were suitable; they would have to leave far too many provisions behind.
“Dad, look!” Sam said and pointed at the cars they were looking at, all of them had flat tyres, slash marks were visible in the morning light.
“What the hell is going on?” Kurt asked himself. The sudden braking of the Land Rover caught his attention and he stopped before climbing out. John was stood in the road, looking at the junction they would need to drive through, yet it was clear this wasn’t going to be possible. Since the previous day, a barricade of cars had been set up, two deep and blocking the whole exit. Several dead were trying to get through to the group, only the metal vehicle bodies were stopping them getting past. Fury surged through Kurt and he made to run and destroy them, to destroy anything that would lessen the throbbing hatred he felt in his mind and heart. John caught him by the arm, recognising the look.
