by Ricky Fleet
“We were watching from a flat across the road, deciding on our next move when we saw that piece of shit throw grenades and blow the doors. We would have tried to reach you at some point, your antics with the car alarm was genius,” Jonesy complimented them.
“How did you know we were even in here?” Kurt wondered.
“We wanted to reach our friends but it was too late. Then we heard the alarm and we saw you all. You looked like a meerkat, the way your head popped out of that hole and looked around,” answered Jonesy.
“We saw that too. I’m really sorry about what happened to them, they were some damned brave soldiers to try and save people in this mess,” Kurt commiserated, putting a hand on the soldier’s shoulder.
“I appreciate the sentiment. They were good guys, each and every one. That leads us to this mother fucker,” Doughball added, scowling at the bloodied figure on the chair.
“Who the hell are you?” Kurt asked, “Why have you been trying to hurt us?”
“You haven’t got a clue have you?” he seemed amused by his anonymity.
“I must be missing the joke,” said Braiden and pulled out his screwdriver.
“You must be Braiden,” smiled the man, knowingly.
“Yep,” he answered and stepped out of line to stab the man who had endangered those he loved.
“Hold it. He will get what’s coming soon enough,” Kurt promised Braiden as he held him back. The smile wavered at the knowledge of his possible death.
“Maybe if you talk we can see what your problem is, if not, we don’t have much use for you.” Kurt shrugged and took his hand from Braiden, threatening with the young lad who would happily finish him off.
“Are you really telling me you have no idea who I might be?” his amusement had turned to incredulousness. He had hoped they would live in fear of every act he perpetrated against the group. That they didn’t know was an insult.
“I’m dying to know, even if you lot don’t care,” Doughball admitted.
“You killed my friends, you cunts. Remember them, the ones you blew up and fed to those fucking creatures?” the last was shouted and he tried to stand but Doughball threw out a sharp jab into his face and he fell back, blood spilling from a split lip. His eyes swam from the blow but then they focused and he licked at the red liquid that was coating his jumper.
“How can that be, we killed you all?” said Kurt, struggling to see how it was possible.
“I fucked off as soon as I heard the glass breaking, the rubble damn near crushed me but I got away and hid in another house. I heard Eddie’s screams as they ate him, you bastards,” Phil spat blood at them. It hit Kurt and he just looked at it dismissively.
“You tried to kill us first! Don’t act like a fucking victim, you savage,” growled Kurt and pulled out his hammer.
“So you’re the one who knew Morse code, you were in the Navy…” John said with despair. He had such high regard for those serving in the armed forces, and to think someone like this had ever sullied the uniform was disturbing.
“You’re a Matlow? What the fuck are you playing at, why aren’t you on your ship? Didn’t you get orders to return to dock?” Jonesy took a warning pace forward, he hated deserter’s who tried to avoid their duty.
“What’s a Matlow, Dad?” Sam whispered.
“It’s what our soldiers call sailors,” he answered as the interrogation continued.
“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I was discharged,” Phil explained.
“Dishonourably, according to Archie,” goaded Kurt. It was a sore spot and Phil tried to attack him again, only Doughball’s huge hand held him in place. Unable to move he tried to bite at his flesh like a rabid animal.
“Don’t be silly now,” chided Doughball as if he was talking to an errant child.
“So you couldn’t handle the life? Only a weak man could fall so low,” said Jonesy with derision.
“Go fuck yourself, you pathetic piece of shit. If not being able to be told what to do every minute of the day makes me weak, what does that make you?” Phil tried to get a rise out of the soldiers.
Jonesy smiled and leaned in close. “It makes us real men; you weren’t even tough enough to fight. You hid on a floating pussy barge with all the other cowards,” he said and punched Phil in the stomach. Vomit burst from his mouth at the power of the blow. He doubled over and retched, trying to regain his breath in ragged gasps.
“Wait a minute, none of this makes sense. How the hell did you know where we were?” Sarah asked, frowning.
“I’ve followed you the whole way. I saw your little rescue on the estate as my friends were still burning. I saw you sail away and I thought I’d lost you. Then you came back so I slashed your tyres to keep you on foot,” he said, still struggling to breathe properly.
“You threw the stone!” Kurt proclaimed and Phil nodded.
“I didn’t count on you being so bloody slippery and resilient,” he complained.
“Happy to have disappointed you.” Kurt smiled at him.
“Ok, that explains up to the pub. How did you know that we hadn’t died when you crashed into the place and it burned?” added Gloria.
“I thought you were dead,” Phil admitted, “I’d heard you inside the farmhouse when you discussed the plan about the soldiers. I figured I could hook up with them for some protection but the car park was swarming with the zombie soldiers. Then fuck me if you didn’t pop up like a jack in the box and get yourself safe again. The zombies were meant to flood in and eat you.”
“You piece of shit,” Jonesy shouted and kicked him full in the face with his heavy boot. The head snapped back and he fell to the floor, unconscious.
While he was incapacitated, the survivors told the story of the child rape and killing of the family in the mystery house by Phil and his goons. Looks of murderous intent settled onto the soldier’s faces and Phil’s bravado disappeared when he awoke. He knew what was coming.
“Please, listen, I didn’t mean it. Don’t kill me. Let me go and you will never see me again,” he blubbered, sick still dripping from his chin. He was never informed by Archie that they had made the same deal, only to fall victim to the arson attack that nearly killed them all. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, Kurt thought of the old proverb.
“It’s your call,” growled Doughball who was ready to twist his head off. He had a young son that lived off-base with his wife in Crawley, the idea was to be closer to her family when he was on deployment. It was home to a huge population and he had watched the aerial drone footage of the massive waves of walking dead. He had refused to zoom in on the swarm in case the high definition display had shown the torn forms of his kin, irrespective of how unlikely it was among the tens of thousands on the move. Command would have had their asses if they knew the troops were quietly checking the areas that their families lived with the multi-million-pound equipment. After the first eight had been shown nothing but unfolding horror, the others had left and mourned without needing video evidence.
“You can trust me, I will go far away, I promise.” He was wailing like a baby, but the pity for this child murderer was non-existent.
“Take him to the roof,” Kurt said with a deadpan expression.
“Wait, no, please…” Phil begged.
They were not careful as they frog-marched him up the stairs, dragging him where he fell to try and postpone the inevitable. The group followed, all pity exhausted. Phil pleaded and screamed with fear but it was all fruitless, he had committed atrocities that would have included them if his plans had worked. Jonesy and Doughball held him by the low wall of the roof and Gloria offered the shotgun to Kurt. He looked at it for long moments and Phil’s desperate eyes flicked from the gun, to the young man who only needed to take it and pull the trigger. Kurt shook his head and Phil nearly collapsed with relief, until he saw the look on Kurt’s face as he marched over. Grabbing him by the shirt, they looked deep into each other’s eyes, before Kurt thrust
him backwards with all his might. The parapet took out Phil at the knee and he fell from the roof, landing amongst the milling zombies. He had crashed down on his legs and the splintered bones stuck through his trousers, spraying blood from torn arteries. The shock of the impact wore off and the screaming began. Looking down, the dead filled the gap that Phil had caused like water closing over a dropped stone. The tearing and cracking bones accompanied the gradually dying sounds of the doomed murderer’s cries as he was eaten. They watched without any satisfaction, only a sense that justice had been served.
Chapter 22
The barricade was solid but it left them sealed within the hospital with the roof being the only way out. The locals were restless and had begun to surround the whole, vast building.
“I’m sorry about that folks. The light machine gun was too noisy and it’s woken the whole neighbourhood,” apologized Doughball.
Kurt walked up and shook his hand, “Don’t worry about it, we are in your debt. Doughball?” he smiled.
“You can call me DB. And it was nothing, we saw how you all handled yourselves and you weren’t even armed properly,” he nodded at the shotgun.
“It serves me well enough, young man,” Gloria chuckled.
“I meant no disrespect,” he apologized to the small, elderly woman. It amused the group to see the giant contrite and embarrassed.
“I know you didn’t,” she replied and gave his cheek a playful squeeze, like a favourite grandmother.
Introductions were made in the dining room and the survivors laid on a welcome feast for the new guests. The party atmosphere was a mix of adrenaline at surviving another assault, and the knowledge they had trained soldiers among their number. Jonesy and DB were treated like royalty, the youngsters fascinated by tales of war in Afghanistan. Christina even found a small bottle of brandy that she knew was hidden within the desk of a senior cardiovascular surgeon. It was a well-known fact that he performed surgery while tipsy most of the time, sucking a mouthful of breath mints to try and hide it. The management turned a blind eye because his results didn’t seem to be affected by the drinking, but she had been sure he would eventually cause a fatality and then the shit would hit the fan. In the end the drunken genius had joined the ranks of the walking corpses. She had seen him shambling around, still wearing his hospital whites that were no longer white.
Jonesy stood with his plastic beaker and proposed a toast, “To new friends, and to kicking the asses of those dead fucks!”
“New friends!” they all shouted in chorus.
DB was eating like a horse, tucking into plate after plate of tinned sausage and beans. Jonesy took Kurt to one side to talk in greater detail.
“Look, I’m sorry that we turned you away at the base. We apparently had orders from command that we couldn’t house civilians, only set up outposts as we saw fit. We made the mistake of choosing the hospitals to try and defend the injured. We wrongly assumed that we could help.” Jonesy looked far away as he remembered the screams of pain as they came over the radio from the troops, between gunfire and explosions. “We were wrong.”
Kurt put a hand on his shoulder, “Your friends went up against a city full of zombies to save people. They will never be forgotten for that bravery; we won’t let it happen.”
“Thanks for the sentiment; it may be a bit more difficult than that.” Jonesy nodded and shook himself out of the funk. “We are in major shit for going AWOL. Lieutenant Baxter is going to have us locked up, or worse.”
“He has to find you first,” Kurt vowed. He had his own issues with the lieutenant and the way he had behaved towards his family. John came across and sat down with them.
“I wanted to thank you personally, you showed up just in time.” John shook his hand again. DB had excused himself from the rapt, wide eyed teenagers and joined them.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked, the chair creaking in protest as he sat down.
“We only have one option left. We were going to try to reach Arundel Castle,” explained Kurt.
DB burst out laughing and the room turned to look at him. “I was just thinking that we abandoned castles hundreds of years ago, now we need to rely on them to keep us safe like Kings of old. King Doughball, has a nice ring to it I think.”
“Don’t you expect me to be your handmaiden,” joked Jonesy, punching him on the solid shoulder.
“You will do as you are commanded or I will have your head!” DB put as much of a regal tilt on his words but the London accent betrayed him.
“If you get us there, I will be your handmaiden for life,” offered Kurt with a grin.
Jonesy finished laughing and got back to business, “What is the plan once you are there?”
“There is fresh water in the well from the local lake. Plenty of fertile ground inside the walls for crops and the best thing? High walls of solid stone that have been standing for a thousand years.” Kurt detailed their plan and it met with approval from the soldiers.
Honey sat patiently watching them, wagging her tail. DB fed her pieces of cut up sausage and she daintily took each piece and swallowed without even chewing.
“How do they even taste the food when they gulp it so quickly?” Jonesy pondered.
“God knows, but she likes it,” DB stated, offering the last piece.
“The only thing we haven’t mentioned yet, and it’s a little difficult to explain because you haven’t seen what we have seen,” Kurt started to speak but couldn’t find the words.
“What’s up Kurt?” DB asked, stroking Honey under the chin.
“Mike and Debbie.” He pointed to them where they sat on their own, avoiding most of the fun and happiness. “They won’t be coming with us. They are poison and have nearly gotten us killed more than once with their psychotic behaviour.”
“They don’t seem so bad.” DB wasn’t convinced, but he had come to trust the judgement of anyone who could survive this mess on foot and with only the most rudimentary weapons.
“It’s your call,” Jonesy shrugged. “Do we leave them here? It’s safe.”
“No. I don’t want to leave them trapped, no matter how much trouble they have caused. We can find somewhere quiet and secure on the route,” Kurt decided and John and the two soldiers agreed.
“When do you plan on leaving?” DB enquired, all business again.
“Soon. Christina will need to gather medical supplies so we can have a basic health facility there. We would need to raid the local doctors for extra equipment and medicine if we run out,” John said.
“We are gonna need that second Foxhound,” DB announced and Jonesy did the same headcount, before agreeing. With all the people, spare guns, and medical apparatus, one would never be enough to get them clear.
“The one that is mounted on that shit pile of corpses will be no good, we need the third one. How we get to it is another problem entirely,” Jonesy said, thinking of a way to get them out of the mess.
“We can give this some thought over the next couple of days,” Kurt said, ending the conversation.
**********
The rooftop was alive with movement as the group searched for any side that wasn’t ten deep in hungry flesh eaters. Thousands had heard the siren song of the battle and joined the crowd who enveloped the hospital building. Like a perpetual Mexican wave, the dead reached for the unattainable meal, mouths snapping at the air.
“We are in a spot of bother,” Paige whispered as they all gathered at the stairs that led to the roof.
“You’re not kidding,” agreed Debbie, the first words she had spoken to Paige in many days.
“We have searched the building from top to bottom and those three entrances are the only way out. The basement and morgue have no exits. We can’t reach the other buildings because they are too far away. In short, we are fucked,” Jonesy informed them all.
“Not necessarily, we have herded them before with a distraction. We could try and draw them away from this side of the building,” Braiden said.
“It’s worth a shot, let’s try it,” DB agreed.
Braiden and Sam started at the same spot on the roof, overlooking the vehicle they hoped would get them to safety. Whooping and hollering they parted ways and started to skirt the parapet, pulling the interested zombies away, while the rest kept down to minimize their attraction. Kurt took a mirror and used the reflection to check the progress. The others watched with interest but he lowered his head and shook it.
“Sam, Braiden, it’s not working!” he called and they came running to look.
The principle was solid, but the weight of numbers meant that the dead couldn’t disperse properly. By the time the ones who were following managed to walk off, the rest had lost interest and returned to the task of beating on the walls. As soon as the youngsters ceased the calling, the waves of corpses refilled the line.
“That was a waste of time,” Mike commented and Debbie sniggered. Their façades had been slipping during the past day or so. The amount of mental energy it required to keep their anger in check had left them drained. The brief glimpses of sarcasm were enough to convince DB and Jonesy beyond doubt that the stories were all true.
“What about fire?” Jodi proposed after hearing of the fascination the dead had for the cleansing flames.
“What did you have in mind?” John asked, interested in the plan.
“Why don’t we set fire to the antenatal wing?” she pointed to the adjoining building, “It could draw them inside and burn them.”
“It’s a great idea, but I don’t think it will burn properly. And I don’t like the idea of that thing collapsing on us if it does go up,” Sarah pointed out. The six floors could potentially crush a third of their single story building if it fell the wrong way.
“How about those?” DB pointed at a block of flats across the other side of the carpark.
