by Ricky Fleet
“Sir?” the scrutiny of his superior combined with his panic addled his thoughts.
“Am I speaking gibberish, Private?” Baxter asked with scorn, “I asked for the report.”
“Of course. Sorry, sir,” Morrow said, trying to calm himself, “I have found four homes with living occupants.”
“Really?” mused Baxter, rubbing his chin.
“All four dwellings are surrounded by the dead, sir.”
“And what is your point?” Baxter asked.
Morrow knew their policy towards refugees and didn’t push the point, “Nothing, sir. I just hope they can hold out through the winter.”
“Don’t let it concern you, Private. Anything else?”
“No sir, all was clear. I will resume at first light as long as the storm has passed,” replied Morrow, astonished by the steady tone of his own voice.
“Good work, soldier. We can’t be sure that the deserters are not sheltering in one of those houses though,” Baxter speculated.
“I doubt it, sir, the dead are quite well entrenched around the positions,” Morrow explained.
“I think it is better to be safe than sorry,” Baxter affirmed, taking the piece of paper which he had jotted down the coordinates.
“Sir?” Morrow questioned.
With a final salute, the lieutenant turned about face and marched out, reaching down into his belt for the radio, “Fire team, this is Lieutenant Baxter, over.”
“This is fire team, go for Baxter, over,” answered the new artillery commander.
“Requesting fire mission at the following coordinates, over,” Baxter said. From behind, he didn’t even acknowledge the sound of someone collapsing and read out the digits that Morrow had handed over, dooming the four pockets of humanity to a fiery death.
CHAPTER NINE
The battle weary survivors gathered in the small bedroom on the canal boat, watching anxiously as Christina gently tried to check DB’s head wound more closely.
“The good news is that I can’t feel any mobile skull around the wound,” she stated as her expert fingers probed at the edges of the bleeding contusion, “Which means there is unlikely to be a compression fracture.”
“So he’s going to be ok?” Sam asked, grinning at the good news.
“I can’t say until he regains consciousness. There may still be a linear fracture which will heal over time, so at the very least we are grounded for a few days while I keep an eye on him.”
Jonesy stepped forward and leaned down, placing a kiss on the filthy hair of the doctor in silent gratitude. Christina was still checking DB’s vitals and could only reach back and pat his leg in reply. The doctor had found her place in the group and was astonished at how quickly she had been accepted. Building trust in the new world was a rapid process, with terrifying encounters bonding people in hours and days rather than weeks and months as before.
“Stay here, we will be right back,” said Kurt. He and John dropped their belongings and made a quick search of the long vessel, but no threat lurked within. Outside? Well that was another matter as the calamitous wail of gale force winds battered at the small windows, reminding them how lucky they were.
The boat was a beautiful specimen and could only have been a year or two old. The attack had allowed little time for inspection and appreciation of the vessel, it had simply been a place to seek refuge from the coming storm. As they left the bedroom, a small hallway led past a compact shower suite, complete with toilet and hand basin. Exquisitely patterned mosaic tiles adorned the walls and the bathroom cabinets were furnished with high gloss white doors, contrasting modern design with the beauty of ages past.
“If that shower works, God is truly watching down on us,” John whispered with anticipation.
“He wasn’t watching at the hospital,” Kurt rebuked, glancing over his shoulder.
A look of sorrow passed over John’s face at the memory, “Sorry, Son. That was a silly thing to say.”
“It’s ok, Dad. Sometimes I do wonder if we have a guardian angel with all the scrapes we have come through, but after Paige I think it was just fear and luck,” Kurt replied with scorn.
Gloria had been following with her shotgun and heard the exchange. Her faith was all but gone following the death of the beautiful and compassionate young woman. Her natural mothering instinct had grown into a powerful love for everyone in the group, and the loss was no less shattering than if Paige had been of her own blood. A tear rolled down her cheek and she reached out to rub John’s shoulder in support.
“Kitchen and lounge,” Kurt whispered after peering through the crack in the doorway which stood in their way. Honey was unfazed and sniffed around their legs without concern. If any zombie had been on the boat, the confined space would mean the dog couldn’t possibly miss the scent.
Kurt pushed the door fully open with the hammer head and stepped over the threshold. To his left was a compact kitchen area, with the granite worktops and range cooker overlooking the spacious lounge. Grey sofas were mounted along the sides of the living area with a large screen plasma television mounted on the far wall. John stepped into the kitchen alcove and turned the burner on the hob, which hissed and then ignited with the sparking piezo.
“The gas bottle is still full,” John informed them as he opened a cupboard door and tilted the propane tank which fed the appliance.
“I wonder…” Kurt said cryptically, before reaching out and flicking a light switch. The bulb stayed dark and they all sighed with disappointment. The snow had all but obscured the windows and the light inside the boat was dull and grey, with shadows gaining ascendency as the snow deepened on the glass.
The lounge carpet was soft and Kurt felt guilty at the wet, muddy footprints they were leaving in their wake. Sitting on the edge of a leather sofa, he started to take his shoes off until he noticed the amused looks of his father and Gloria.
“Sorry, I just didn’t want to make a mess,” he grinned and shrugged.
“You are a true gentleman and an excellent house guest,” Gloria informed him with a wry smile.
“But your feet stink!” John added and they all laughed.
“I’ll keep them on,” Kurt said and shook his head at the absurdity of worrying about making a mess in someone’s property who was likely to be part of the undead hordes.
“Our noses are most grateful,” said Gloria and even Honey had quickly retreated upon getting a closer sniff at the fragrant extremities.
“I really hope that shower works,” Kurt said, echoing the sentiments of John and bringing more chuckles.
Two locked doors remained, one leading up a small flight of steps which opened out onto a small veranda for entertaining. The reclining chairs were stacked in one corner and a barbecue was covered for the wet seasons. A canvas canopy had been tied to the fixing points and the snow swirled around and under, creating a maelstrom of white. Seeing there was nothing of value, Kurt pointed to the final door and Gloria raised the shotgun in readiness. Pulling the handle, the door swung wide and Gloria visibly relaxed, lowering the gun. The door only led to a small cupboard with a bank of electricity meters and fuses that were totally different from a standard domestic setup.
“All clear,” called John to the rest of the survivors and turned his attention back to the myriad circuits and wires.
“Any idea?” Kurt inquired as John scratched his head in confusion.
“You boys are on your own with this one I’m afraid,” Gloria said and took her leave.
“Fucked if I know,” admitted John when the teacher was out of earshot.
The others filtered into the room and sat down on the soft chairs, groaning with contentment. Christina followed and only Jonesy was left in the bedroom, keeping a watchful eye on his brother in arms.
“May I have a look?” Christina asked the two baffled men and they gladly stepped aside for the doctor.
“Any idea, Doc?” Kurt asked with fingers crossed.
“We are in luck. The boat has a
separate engine and generator, see?” Christina pointed to two separate panels and the information displayed. Refusing to seem less manly, they both nodded without having a clue. “It means we can produce electricity when we are moored as long as we have fuel. Normally the boat would be hooked up to a power point on the dock, but without a supply it’s dead.”
“I thought as much,” John lied.
She made one final check of a small manual that was in the cupboard and nodded to herself, “Good, it’s similar to one I have used before. Wait here.”
Christina wrapped the scarf around her face tightly and opened the door that led up to the observation deck. The door was ripped from her hands and flung back against the wall with a crack, but thankfully the glass held.
“What are you doing?” yelled Kurt over the din.
“Be right back,” called Christina, shielding her face from the biting wind and snow.
She hurried up the steps and Kurt pushed the door closed, stilling the air within the cabin. Kneeling at a seemingly normal section of deck, she pulled on a hidden handle and the floor lifted like a trapdoor. Kurt watched her reach inside and there was purpose to her movements which he couldn’t fathom, but he assumed it was the generator housing. The wind increased in ferocity, throwing her to the side and snatching at her clothes and hair like a malicious entity. Kurt was transfixed by the currents of snow and found himself expecting hands to form from the icy tempest to carry her away. The foreboding caused him to shiver involuntarily and he threw open the door to shake the feeling, intending to help.
“No, I’m ok. Go back inside!” Christina shouted after getting back up and with one more hidden action, the trapdoor was slammed shut.
“Take my hand,” Kurt said and reached an arm out to help her navigate the snow covered steps.
“Appreciate it,” gasped Christina as the door was closed and she took a moment to compose herself, “Bloody hell that was cold.”
“Here, take this,” Braiden came over and threw a thick blanket around her shoulders.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said through chattering teeth.
Braiden stood for a few moments, staring at the doctor which caused her to frown in confusion. He suddenly stepped forward and embraced her tightly, “For body heat,” he explained awkwardly, “And for saving DB,” he admitted.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, he could still be in danger,” replied Christina, wanting to keep a modicum of caution in case the worst should happen.
“He will be fine, I know it,” declared Braiden, unheeding of the statement.
“Thank you for the heat,” Christina smiled and broke contact, before returning to the fuse board, “Here goes nothing.”
One by one she flicked the switches, until finally the lounge burst into brilliant light from the wall mounted bulbs. A cheer went up from the group and Christina blushed at the adulation. Kurt smiled at Sarah and it triggered a bout of mutual hugging and appreciation. The renewed electricity filled them with a sense of accomplishment in the face of the adversity they had endured. Maybe, just maybe, their old life could be rekindled. A life of science and technology, modern comforts and, best of all, hope.
“What the hell?” Jonesy exclaimed as he entered the lounge, “the alarm clock just started blinking at me!” Fascinated by the power, he stood by the wall and flicked the lights on and off a few times, much to the amusement of the survivors.
“It’s like being in a disco,” said Jodi with a smile.
Braiden and Sam spontaneously broke into a dance routine and flailed around the room, energized by the happiness. John grabbed Gloria and started to pirouette around, staring deep into each other’s eyes as they waltzed. Not to be outdone, Jonesy started flapping his arms, doing the funky chicken. Sam collapsed in fits of giggles onto the sofa at the spectacle and even Peter was smiling broadly.
“What’s that racket?” flowed down the corridor from the bedroom and all activity stopped as if a pause button had been pressed. Wide eyes and a crazed dash ensued as the group ran to see the source of the deep, complaining voice.
DB was still laid on the stretcher with his head supported. His eyes strained to look at the doorway and a pained smile formed on his lips when he saw his friends enter the room. Christina pushed through the well-wishers and was all business.
“Don’t move!” she ordered and shone a small flashlight into each eye. The pupils were sluggish and unresponsive to the stimulus, “Well that’s good and not so good, you have a severe concussion.”
“I always said you had a thick head, now I’m sure,” joked Jonesy who took up his friend’s hand, holding it tight with love and relief.
“You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily did you?” DB chuckled and winced at the sharp pain that gnawed away inside his head.
“He needs rest! You will have to come back in a while,” Christina ordered and turned her attention back to the patient, “I will do some more checks and then you need to sleep.”
The survivors could see the agony etched on his face and quietly left for the lounge, wishing they could help, but knowing nature would take its course. All they could do was pray. Not that it would carry much weight if the past few days were anything to go by.
“Can I have some drugs? My head is killing me.” DB asked, closing his eyes. The act of talking sent vibrations through his head that felt like razor blades inside his skull.
“Not right now. I need to monitor you for a while to see if anything more serious is going on,” commiserated Christina.
“I understand,” DB whispered and closed his eyes. The pain was being replaced by a growing weariness and in moments he had drifted off. Christina watched and the steady rhythm of his breathing signaled a sleep state instead of unconsciousness, which was a great relief.
“Sleep now, gentle giant,” whispered Christina after finishing her tests, placing a kiss on his fevered brow.
The lounge was full of excitement at the partial recovery of their friend. Although not out of the woods, Christina agreed that his prognosis was infinitely better than she had believed at the foot of the river bank. Recuperation was now required and she explained to the group what that meant.
“He will need several days of bedrest as a minimum. We won’t be able to push on for the castle until he is on his feet and the concussion is gone. Any kind of stress or strenuous activity and it could hamper his recovery,” she explained.
“We need him one hundred percent,” agreed John. He was a fearsome warrior and their chances relied upon as many strong men and women for the coming onslaught.
“We are stranded here for now? Oh my, how will we ever cope?” Gloria joked sarcastically.
“I agree, we are slumming it a bit, what with electricity and cooking facilities. I think we will just have to try and make it work,” John shook his head in faux melancholy.
“I have even more bad news,” Jodi said, walking back into the room, “The shower is working… and hot.”
More applause threatened to echo the length of the barge until they remembered the sleeping soldier. Celebration was limited to a couple of silent fist pumps and quiet back patting. Honey was caught up in the jubilation and wagged her tail furiously, licking everyone who offered their hand.
“It seems the boat was fully stocked and ready to go, which means people probably lived on here instead of using it for holiday cruising,” Christina explained.
Sam looked at her with a frown, “Why wouldn’t they just live in a house?”
“Because this costs about fifty thousand pounds, and the average house is two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,” she replied.
“Ah, that makes sense,” Sam admitted, nodding slowly. Money and finance hadn’t been a concern while he was growing up, and now it probably never would be. Any society that grew from the corpse of the old world would more than likely be based on barter and trade.
“Everyone get comfortable, I will get the dinner on,” Kurt offered and Peter started to
take requests. The vote was unanimous for macaroni and cheese, so Kurt opened the large tin and poured it into a saucepan that he found tucked in a small cupboard.
“Yes!” Braiden exclaimed when the television blazed into life.
“What? You get to look at a blank screen?” John was perplexed by the wide grin on the youngster’s face.
“Nope. We get to watch these,” Braiden said, pulling a stack of DVD’s from a cabinet below the screen, “But I don’t think we can spare the electricity,” he finished and put the films away, closing the drawer carefully.
Sarah looked at Gloria and they both smiled at the maturity he was showing. Months ago he had been a hellion and the bane of many student’s lives. Now here he was, caught between the urge to capture some small semblance of their old life, and the knowledge that the fuel would serve a better purpose elsewhere.
“I’m sure one film wouldn’t hurt. We may never get the chance again,” replied John and this was just as surprising as Braiden’s personal development.
“Dad, are you feeling ok?” Kurt asked, stirring the food and laughing.
John’s cheeks darkened and he shrugged, “Well, the boys have had it hard,” he blustered, trying to justify the sudden change in his no nonsense character, “We could all do with a good laugh. Braiden, find a good comedy, lad.”
“Ok, Grandad,” he replied and dug back into the collection.
“You’re a good man, John Taylor,” Gloria whispered as her arms encircled his waist.
“Just don’t tell anyone,” he whispered back and held her close.
The storm raged, pummeling the long vessel with gusts of driven snow. Winds searched for ingress along the seams and sills, shrieking with inhuman need when denied access. With temperatures dropping and the onset of night, the survivors huddled in relative comfort as four friends suffered a calamitous bachelor party in Las Vegas on the big screen. Raucous laughter rung out, cleansing the area with renewed hope. As the movie rolled and the adversity brought the mismatched friends closer, the survivors felt a certain kinship with the fictional characters. The hilarity gradually faded as these feelings triggered memories of the horror and death they had witnessed. Feelings of contentment grew into guilt at their inactivity and before the movie ended they were all fidgeting and restless. Braiden stood and walked over to the television, pausing by the power switch to look at the group.
