Safe Zone (Book 1): The Greater Good

by Sussex, Suzanne

  First things first, clothes. I am currently wearing jeans and a vest top. I’d put them on earlier, without thinking about going to the shops.

  The vest top is okay, but it would be hard to run in jeans, although I hope I won’t need to run anywhere. But prepare for the worst, wish for the best. I take the jeans off and select a pair of dark green shorts out of my chest of drawers, and put them on.

  I step back and view my reflection in the mirror. I look like a fat Lara Croft. Visions of being a zombie and being stuck in the same outfit forever fill my mind. It’s nothing but vanity, although fat or not, I should not have my legs exposed. I quickly take them off again.

  If I were a biker, I could wear leather trousers, which would give some protection from zombie bites. I am not a biker. I do not own leathers. Even if I did, I guess running in them would be difficult. Still, having something covering my legs would make me feel better.

  I root through my drawers and find a pair of dark grey trousers. A couple of years ago I signed on for a charity walk up Snowdon. I am not an outdoorsy type, but I didn’t want to look out of place. I had bought everything, spending a fortune on the best brands. I struggled so much, walking up that mountain, out of breath and exhausted. The words “all the gear, no idea,” played in a mocking loop in my mind. I decided that hiking was not for me. When I got home, I boxed up all of the equipment, with the intention of selling it one day. I kept the trousers because they were comfortable and I thought they might be suitable for gardening or something.

  It hadn’t occurred to me that “something” would be the zombie apocalypse.

  I pull the trousers on. They are a little tight, and this time I don’t bother looking in the mirror. These are practical; they will do.

  Haphazardly stuffing my clothes back in my drawers, a thought occurs to me. I am not coming back, and I’ll need clothes for the next few weeks. I fill a duffle bag with tops, jeans, and underwear. In the bathroom, I pick up my toothbrush and deodorant. Back in the bedroom I select a hairbrush and some hairbands and put them in the bag too. Lastly, I open my wardrobe and choose a couple of hoodies.

  The bag is almost full. I sit astride it and use my thighs to squeeze it closed while I zip it up.

  Clothes sorted. What next? I think back to the list I made earlier. That was supposed to be for staying at home, but I guess it would make sense to bring any food I have with me.

  Carting the duffle bag downstairs, I leave it in the hallway. In the kitchen, I unload the food from the cupboard, and pack it into carrier bags. I add the water bottles I filled earlier but leave the other containers full of water where they are.

  If the situation gets to the point when someone needs to break into my house for supplies, then at least they’ll be able to have a drink.

  Right then, weapons. I take the carving knife out of the block and wrap it in a tea towel. Hmm … might as well take the lot. I unwrap the tea towel and add the rest of the knives from the block before wrapping it back up again. I pick up the torch from where I left it, then go back to the garage.

  It doesn’t take long to find the box of walking supplies. I rip it open and pull out a first aid kit, utility knife, and micro fibre towel. I load these into the backpack that is also in the box. Although... the utility knife might come in handy. I take it out and shove that in my pocket. Next in the box are my walking boots, so I pull them out. Might be useful to pop them in the car, just in case.

  At the bottom of the box are two walking poles. I carried them all the way up Snowdon and all the way down again, too embarrassed to use them, even though they might have made the whole experience a little bit easier. Will they help me now? I guess they could come in useful if I injured a leg or had to walk really far. Besides, they attach to the rucksack and are lightweight, so there is no harm in taking them.

  Next up is the toolkit. I take out a hammer and a chisel, because you just never know when you might need to do a bit of woodwork in the apocalypse! Although I guess they might be useful if I needed to break into something. I laugh out loud at that. As if I’m going to be breaking into things. I put them in the bag anyway, just in case.

  Steve’s golf clubs are next to be raided. I pick up two that are big and chunky, I know they’ve got an official, golfy sounding name, but I can’t remember what it is. Driver? Wodge? Wedge? In turn, I swing each from side to side. They are not as heavy as they look. I’m not convinced that they would do much damage to someone. I suppose it makes sense. Designed for swinging quickly at a ball, not for beating people up. They would need to be light enough to build up power behind the swing.

  The club used for knocking the ball into the hole would not need to be so light as it does not get swung back. I lift it from the bag. It’s a different shape from the rest, so I assume it must be the putter, and it is heavier than the others.

  I swing it around; it feels much sturdier. I am not convinced how much damage it will do, but I will feel better if I have something that has a long reach.

  If I have to use the hammer or the knives, it means something has got way too close to me. I put the two lighter clubs back in the bag, then quickly take them out again. It won’t hurt to have all three clubs with me.

  I have everything I need from the garage, but I briefly shine the light around in case I am struck by inspiration. I switch off the torch and go back into the house, where I add the rucksack, boots and golf clubs to the bags in the hall.

  I pick up my phone, but there are no new messages and it’s still showing a signal. The action reminds me to get the power bank and some batteries. I put the batteries in the rucksack and the power bank with its USB cord in my pocket. I’ll charge it and the phone in the car on the way to Heathrow.

  I take my car keys from the top of the set of drawers, and head to the front door. I move to pull it open but hesitate.

  A wave of sadness washes over me. This is the first home that Steve and I bought together. It has so many good memories. Will I ever come back? I run up the stairs and pick up a picture frame with the only printed photo I have of us together. The rest are on our phones and laptops. It shows us at a bar on holiday in Mexico. We had asked a stranger to take it for us, and just as the photo was about to be taken, Steve had whispered, “Boobies” in my ear, causing us both to laugh like children. We look so tanned and happy. When we got home, I made a point of getting it printed and framed.

  I take the picture out of the frame, take a photo of it, so I’ve still got an electronic version if something happens to the original. Then I fold it in two and put it in my purse.

  Back downstairs I add my purse to the rucksack.

  Taking one last look around, I open the door. I’m about to burst right out when it occurs to me that I should check to make sure it’s safe. The street is quiet. Many of the neighbours’ cars are missing from their driveways. I wonder where they have gone. Wherever they are, I wish them well and hope they are safe.

  The silence is interrupted by a persistent thumping coming from the house across the road. It sounds like someone is trying to get out. Perhaps they need help. I consider this for a moment. A young couple live across from us. Rich and Sarah. We exchange polite nods and pleasantries when we cross paths, but I don't really know them. Rich works in London and Sarah works at a local school. They have the same front door as me. It can be opened from the inside even if it’s locked from the outside. I can’t think of a good reason why they wouldn’t be able to get out.

  I walk cautiously over to the house and knock softly on the door. “Sarah, Rich… it’s Chloe, are you okay?” The steady rhythm of the thumping changes to a frantic banging. Then it is accompanied by a low, almost inhuman groan. It sounds likes the woman at the supermarket earlier. My heart sinks. They are infected. I back away from the door, which is solid and will not wield from fists banging at it. The thought of them finding a way to open the door frightens me enough to move quickly.

  I run back to my house and grab the rest of the bags from the hallway. I
put the clothes and food in the boot, but keep the rucksack and golf clubs in the front with me. I shut and lock my door and get into the driver’s seat. I reverse out of the driveway and see two people making their way down the road, and their awkward movement suggests they are infected.

  The street was empty a few moments ago, so I assume that the loud banging has attracted these two.

  I put the car into gear and set off, watching for the reactions of the infected at the noise of the engine. As I expected, they turn towards the sound. Their pace increases as they fix their eyes on my car. I stop and look out of the rear mirror, studying them. They seem clumsy and uncoordinated. Short of getting out of the car, I am not sure what else I can learn, so I set off again and soon leave them behind me. It is nearly five o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, and on a typical day the roads would be teeming with commuters trying to get home. Now the lack of traffic creates an ominous and threatening environment. I press my foot a little firmer on the accelerator, eager to get away.

  Heathrow is a little over an hour away from here. It should be an easy route, join the dual carriageway, past Oxford, then on to the motorway. Hang on. Past Oxford? Fucking idiot.

  I am clearly not a survival expert, but entering a city with countless zombies roaming around, is probably a dumb idea. I stop the car, but leave the engine running. I need to think about this. I don’t want to run the risk of passing Oxford, even though it’s a quicker route. I expect the motorways will be okay, but I don’t know how to get there without going along the dual carriageway.

  My satellite navigation system will be no help, because it will just show me the quickest way, which I already know. I don’t have a road map in the car. Does anyone nowadays? I’ll use my phone.

  Retrieving it from my trouser pocket, I load up the map application. It looks like I can stick to country roads and avoid the cities. I’ll be going through some small towns. It is reasonably quiet here, so maybe it will be the same elsewhere. I trace the route with my finger, trying to remember the names of the roads.

  A loud bang rocks the car, and I jump in fright. One of those things is pressed up against the window, its hands clawing at the glass. I look back at it, temporarily memorised by its black eyes staring at me. Although, is it staring? Can it see with those black eyes or do they just go by sound? I wave my hand left and right. It continues to look at me, seemingly not noticing the motion.

  It is a strange sensation, waving frantically at someone right in front of you, and them not reacting in any way.

  Just to double check, I use both hands and wave them side to side. Then I realise it looks like I am doing jazz hands and stop immediately, feeling silly. I can even feel myself start to blush.

  The thing at the window carries on clawing, oblivious to my embarrassment. I feel safe in here; I wonder what else I can learn about these things. I study the face. It’s a woman, probably around my age. She’s wearing a simple white top that looks like it could do with a wash, and a pair of black shorts. She has little gold stud earrings and a necklace with the letter L handing from it. I wonder what her name is … was.

  I don’t see any visible injuries on her, and I wonder how she became infected. In fact, if it weren't for those creepy eyes and the twisted snarl on her face she would look normal. Pretty. Although looking closer at her face, I notice her skin doesn’t look quite right. It’s very pale and has a strange sheen to it, like it’s made of wax.

  I’m not sure that checking the complexion of this woman or the fact her name probably begins with L will help me. I switch the engine off, and the car is now silent. I know that the daytime running lights will stay on for a few more seconds, but I want to know if it is me she is reacting to or the noise from the car. The she-thing continues to claw at the windows. It’s a fruitless exercise. She is not even banging on the glass, just scratching her fingers down it, so there is no way she will get through, but she carries on regardless. I feel almost sorry for her.

  I watch for a couple of minutes. Her hands on the window are making a soft squeaking noise, and I can hear her groan, muted by the window separating us. It sounds like the moans from the woman at the shop earlier. I am making no noise, yet still, she continues to paw at the window. Did she initially react to the sound of the engine and become fixated on its source? Or can she see me?

  Without warning, I hear a new noise from behind me. I look in the rear-view mirror and see another two of those things now scratching at the boot, I look around. There are five or six more coming from different directions. The groan from the she-thing continues and is joined by more voices making that horrible sound. It’s creepy, and I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. I turn the key, the engine roars back to life. It is time to go.

  Fourteen

  The mob watched in silence as the group of crazy teenagers made their way up the stairs. They made no attempt to follow them. Instead, they held heated discussions about what to do now. Discussions turned to arguments, which turned into fights. The teenagers that had fled from them moments before were forgotten.

  Sam trudged behind the three girls, part of their group, but somehow on the outside. It had been fine before Sally had shown up. Sure, Lex was a bit of a pain in the arse, but Claire was alright. At least they both included him. Now that Sally was back it was like he didn’t exist.

  He figured he could just fuck off somewhere, but then he would be on his own, no friends, no idea how to get home, so his fear of being alone was driving him to trudge behind the girls like an unwanted stray dog.

  Claire caught a glimpse of Sam out of the corner of her eye. He was hanging his head, his steps slow and cumbersome. Her heart went out to him, and she slowed her pace to fall into step with him.

  “Hey,” she said, “you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he replied in a tone which implied the opposite.

  “Thinking about your friends?” she prodded.

  “Oh, er yeah,” Sam replied quickly, “yeah, can’t believe they’re gone, ya know?” he was too ashamed to admit that he had been thinking about himself and how he was feeling. Dean and the rest of his mates were far from his thoughts.

  “I know,” Claire murmured and reached for Sam’s hand to give it a squeeze.

  Sam felt sorry for lying to her. Claire was nice. He didn’t fancy her or anything, but she seemed like a genuinely kind and caring person. “Any idea where we’re going?” he asked, keen to change the subject.

  “We’re looking for somewhere to spend the night.”

  “Can’t we just kip on one of those sets of seats?” Sam asked.

  “We’d be too exposed,” Claire explained, “anyone could see us there, and we really don’t want that lot finding us.”

  “What about one of the airport lounge things. You know where all the posh lot go before their flights?” Sam suggested.

  Claire stopped and looked at him, “Sam, that’s genius. They’re big enough so we’d have room to move around, and small enough not to feel too exposed,” she smiled at him.

  “Ooh, and they have food and drink in them. Genius!” She knew she was laying it on a bit thick. Sure, it was a good idea, but she was acting like he had invented the wheel. Still, it was the most useful thing Sam had said since meeting him, and her enthusiasm seemed to perk him up.

  “Sally, Lex,” she called, “Sam has just had a great idea.”

  The two girls in front of them stopped and turned around. They wore matching looks of disbelief and scepticism.

  “He suggested we find an Executive Lounge to sleep in tonight. Isn’t that a brilliant idea?” She said enthusiastically. Lex opened her mouth to say something, then stopped short when she noticed the hard glare in Claire’s eye.

  “Um, yeah … good idea, Sam,” she tried to be encouraging but knew that she sounded insincere.

  Sam did not appear to notice, and for the first time in hours, he smiled.

  His face transformed instantly from sullen and stroppy to good natured and happy. The difference was remarkab
le. Sally who had been watching the exchange, felt her heart skip a beat. This was the young man that she had met on Saturday. He was gorgeous when he smiled. Her face clouded as she berated herself. He was a prick, he had used her, and she hated him.

  “I suppose we could do that,” she said in a tone that did little to hide her contempt. She stalked over to a map of the massive terminal. “There are a few lounges around. We’re here,” she pointed to a spot on the map. “I suggest we go to this one,” she tapped another point on the map. It was on the level above them, just past security.

  They found the lounge easily and stopped to look at the smart British Airways sign that told them who could gain entry.

  “Ah,” Sally paused, “we’ll need one of the BA cards to get in. I left mine at home.”

  “Haha, good one, yeah me too,” Sam snickered, earning a look of disdain from Sally. “Oh, you were serious. You actually have one of those cards.”

  “I do,” Sally said primly. “A platinum one,” she bragged, immediately regretting it. “My dad has to travel a lot for work, so I sometimes go with him,” she justified herself. “But it’s at home, so how are we going to get in?”

  “Powers out, innit,” Sam stated, then pushed the door. It swung open, much to his relief. He would have looked a right twat if it had been locked. He grinned again, noticing Sally averting her eyes.

  Sam stepped inside, “Fucking hell,” he exclaimed. “It’s well posh in ‘ere,” his voice echoed around the empty room. He took in the expensive leather chairs, the buffet area.

  His eyes came to rest on a massive display of wine. Walking over he picked up a bottle, “Anyone want some?” Lex and Sally looked back at him in disgust.

  Claire softly shook her head and mouthed, “No.”

  “Er, second thoughts, probably best not to drink. Need a clear head and… ya know,” his voice trailed off. He replaced the bottle of wine in the rack and went to another fridge that held bottles of water. He hesitated and turned to Claire. She nodded back at him, he opened the fridge and pulled out four bottles. He handed one to each of girls, and they drank in silence.