by Ricky Fleet
“Turn it off if you want,” Kurt offered and no one objected.
Pressing the button, the picture blinked out, “It didn’t feel right. I mean, people are dying and… I thought it would be good… but, with all that’s going on…” Braiden tried to articulate the conflicting emotions, finally gave up and looked at the floor in silence. Growing up in an environment that involved differing levels of screaming to communicate was not something he could get over in a few weeks, but he was trying.
“I know exactly what you mean.” John came to the rescue, hugging the boy close, “We have been to hell and back and I don’t think it’s possible to go back to the way things were that easily. Maybe when we are safe and humanity has come back from the brink it won’t feel so… disrespectful?”
Everyone nodded in agreement at John’s accurate analysis of the situation. Thankfully, before they could dwell too much on the pain, DB’s voice rang out from the bedroom interrupting the morbid thoughts.
“Who’s a man got to kill to get a meal around here?”
“I’ll take it,” offered Jonesy. Picking up the plate of warm pasta, he made his way down the hallway with Christina in tow.
“That smells good,” grinned the injured soldier from the bed.
“Trust your stomach to wake your fat ass up, you’re meant to be resting!” Jonesy scolded him and laughed.
DB was still strapped down on the stretcher, but the doctor decided to try and move him onto the bed for comfort. If they had tried to feed him laying down, he was in danger of choking to death on the cheesy treat.
“Lie still,” said Christina as she felt around his head and neck, before moving down his muscular body. She still didn’t understand the banter about him being a ‘fat ass’ but didn’t raise the issue.
Blood had ceased trickling from his ears and the swelling had diminished from the egg shaped lump he had worn earlier. By carefully flexing his fingers and toes, a full range of movement and sensation was noted before Christina was ready to try and shift his position. Any hidden damage would have been impossible to pick up without the use of an x-ray anyway, so they unstrapped him and hoped for the best.
“If you have any tingling or loss of feeling, let me know immediately,” Christina said sternly.
“You can count on it, Doc,” replied DB, nervously. The last thing he wanted was to be paralyzed in the zombie apocalypse, the only cure would be a bullet to the brain. He could just picture himself sitting in the wheelchair, being pushed desperately by one of the group until the inevitable tumble. Laying in the street, unable to move as the zombies surrounded him and started the feast.
“At least it wouldn’t hurt from the neck down,” he commented.
“What, are you losing feeling?” Christina asked in a panic.
“No, sorry, Doc. I was just thinking if I ended up crippled, it wouldn’t hurt much getting eaten,” DB explained and Christina wrinkled her nose.
“It would hurt the zombies more, trying to eat your bloated carcass,” Jonesy mocked and DB laughed. It caused a great deal less shooting pain in his head than before his afternoon nap, so he said a small prayer to God, the baby Jesus, and whatever else was out there. They continued the maneuver and pulled the stretcher from beneath his bulk. Laying back into the goose down pillows, DB felt he had died and gone to Heaven.
“I can’t take this anymore. Why do you keep calling him fat when he is anything of the sort?” Christina demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
“It’s nice of you to say that, but look at him,” Jonesy pointed at DB who pulled a hangdog expression, “He’s a lard arse.”
Christina was unimpressed and the fierce scowl she regarded them with caused more laughter. DB started to explain, “When I was younger I was… a bit plump. You could say I was a right little bloater. The kids on the estate used to call me beached whale and threaten to throw me back in the sea. When I hit sixteen I was nearly as tall as I am now, and strangely enough the bullying stopped. Most of the time they would even cross the street in fear.”
Christina was still not convinced, “So you were bullied all through your formative years, and now use a nickname that reminds you of your awful childhood?”
“I use it to drive me,” he said earnestly, “All the hate and bitterness is my fuel, it’s what allows me to push through the pain and be a real warrior.”
“That, and you really do love to eat,” Jonesy said and patted DB’s flat stomach.
“You are both incorrigible!” she complained before walking off, shaking her head and smiling, “I will be back to check on you shortly. Call me immediately if you have any numbness.”
“You’re the best, Doc,” called out DB.
“I know,” she replied and was gone from the room.
“You had me scared there, you fucker,” Jonesy admitted now the ribbing had come to an end.
“It will take more than a caved in skull to finish me off,” DB answered with a tired smile. Despite his high spirits the injury was beginning to take its toll again so Jonesy quickly picked up the plate.
“Get this down you before you pass out on me,” Jonesy said and spooned mouthfuls of creamy pasta into the eager cavern of DB’s mouth, “And if you ever tell anyone I fed you like a baby, I will kill you myself!”
“Love you, brother,” DB whispered after finishing the meal, his eyelids closing with exhaustion.
“Love you, big man, sleep well,” Jonesy finished and kissed his friend on the head.
In the lounge, the sleeping arrangements were finalized and instead of bedding down on the couches, the cushions were made into a half decent mattress on the floor. With the generator turned off for the night, the temperature was dropping fast and the decision was made to sleep alongside one another. Christina positioned herself at the furthest end so that she could make routine checks on DB throughout the night. Honey had claimed the foot of the makeshift hospital bed and lay watching the patient as he snored, before drifting off into canine dreams.
“Is everyone comfortable?” asked Jonesy from the opposite end to Christina. As the only one trained with the guns, it was decided he should be free to leap out of bed at a second’s notice without falling over the others in the event of an emergency.
“As much as we can be,” John replied honestly. The sharing of heat through the long night would be a welcome trade against the opportunity to stretch out on the sofas.
After much fidgeting and accommodation of peoples varying positions, everyone wished each other goodnight. Laid between Gloria and Braiden, Peter thought they must have looked like a packet of vacuum packed frankfurter sausages that he used to buy from Walmart. Debbie had always hated them, but sneaking them into the shopping trolley was one of the only ways he could score a victory, irrespective of how hollow it was. The wind howled outside, reminding him of her tantrums and shrieking fits. Wherever the evil bitch was, he prayed she was suffering.
***
Exhaustion proved to be the perfect sleep aid to endure the chaotic night of wind and ice. Jodi had been woken by the silence, a change in the environment so profound that confusion had mercifully pulled her from the nightmare of Mike and Debbie torturing Paige to death. She looked at the hands of her watch which were coated in a small amount of phosphorescent paint. Five twenty-eight glowed from the timepiece and the others were still fast asleep; some snoring, others struggling with their coverings as they battled whatever inner demon had decided to invade their dreams. The risen moon fought a losing battle with the snow sealed windows and only the feeblest light penetrated into the room.
“Jesus Christ,” she whispered with a shudder, remembering.
The horrific visions had been so vivid that Jodi was bathed in a sticky layer of sweat in spite of the chill of the room. Similar to many nightmares, she had been powerless to intervene, merely the unwilling audience for the brutal punishment of the innocent girl. Rooted to the spot, she had listened as Mike had taken perverse pleasure in detailing each violation they woul
d perpetrate. It had been so violent that Jodi had screamed and pleaded, a show of perceived weakness that had only emboldened the depraved pair in their torment. The smell of burnt hair and flesh was still in her nostrils from the torture, the sounds of Paige’s bones fracturing as her thin frame was twisted and wrenched still rung in her ears. After the slow and methodical infliction of pain, the killing blow came as a surprise. Wielding one of their machetes, Debbie had locked eyes with Jodi and ran the blade across the bruised and fire blackened throat of Paige, triggering a torrent of blood which could only exist in dreams. The liquid had bathed her and, still caught in the limbo between full consciousness and the fantasy, she quickly checked the moisture saturating her clammy skin. A damp, but clear, hand came away and the final remnants of the delusion were dispelled.
“Fuck you, Mike Arater. Pray we never meet again, because I will fucking kill you,” she whispered so vehemently that specks of spittle flew from her mouth.
“Are you ok, sweetheart?” whispered Gloria in the gloom.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,”
“That’s ok, I’m a light sleeper. Bad dream?” Gloria asked.
“The worst,” Jodi replied, “You are religious, right? I mean, I’ve heard the others mention you used to visit church regularly.”
Gloria hesitated for a few seconds before answering and Jodi assumed that she had drifted back to sleep, “I used to go to church several times a week, that is true.”
“How do you think God figures into all of this? Why would He allow us to suffer like this?”
“Darling, if God exists, and at the present time I have my doubts, I think we can all agree He has monumentally fucked up,” Gloria said bluntly and Jodi had to stifle a giggle at the mental image conjured by her profanity; God running around in a panic, hands on his head asking Mrs. God what to do.
Gloria continued, “Whatever happened on that day, we may never know. All that we can take from this whole awful mess is that we are back to a dog eat dog world, survival of the fittest. I just hope that groups like ours can prove to be the dominant force in the world to come.”
“I want to kill them both,” admitted Jodi reluctantly, hoping everyone else was still asleep, “What would God have to say about that?”
“If God would inflict this horror upon the human race, and then punish us in the afterlife for seeking retribution against evil, then He is not worthy of our faith,” Gloria said with a heavy heart. If ever she reached the pearly gates and Saint Peter sat in judgement, her conscience would be clear. Eternal damnation couldn’t be much worse than the hell they were living in each and every day.
“You think He would understand?” Jodi asked hopefully. Although never much interested in religion before the apocalypse, the intimate experience of death had awoken a need for answers that couldn’t be known. Only when they shuffled off this mortal coil would the searching end, one way or another.
“Worry about it when we get up there. If God tries giving us a hard time we will kick His omnipotent behind!” Gloria declared a little too loudly.
“Testify, sister!” Jonesy whispered and they could tell by the tone he was grinning.
“I’m so sorry,” Gloria apologized, lowering her volume considerably to ensure the others weren’t disturbed.
“Don’t sweat it. I caught the end of the conversation, and if anyone should be worried, it’s DB and I. We have done some bad shit serving Queen and Country,” Jonesy replied and a darker, remorseful tone had replaced the unseen smile.
“You are a professional soldier, dear. I’m sure you were only following orders,” Gloria said, trying to assuage some of his inner guilt.
“I don’t know how well that defense will stack up when I stand to be judged,” he replied with a bleakness in his soul, “Anyway, let’s try and get another hour of sleep.”
Gloria knew of the abhorrence of war. Her father had returned from fighting the Nazi’s and had never been the same again. The inhuman cruelties witnessed had ripped him screaming from sleep most nights, and only her mother’s soothing voice had calmed the tremors. Gloria had watched surreptitiously on more than one occasion, scared and bewildered at his gasping sobs. After sneaking back to bed, the morning had broken and her father had seemed unshakeable once more. It had taken an older cousin to explain that during the liberation, the Germans had taken to spiteful retribution for the impending defeat. Men, women, and worst of all, children had been butchered in their thousands. Passing each tiny corpse had gradually eroded any sense of mercy he felt towards the enemy, and for the rest of the war he killed them out of hand, even the ones who attempted to surrender. Lauded as a fearless warrior, he had despised the adulation that came from murder. Upon return, he had never spoken of the war again and information was only forthcoming from his friends after a few too many whiskeys. Gloria reminisced, picturing herself as a small girl sitting on his lap, her father stroking her hair with his scarred, calloused hand. The fond memory filled her with a warm longing and slumber beckoned, promising a joyous reunion.
CHAPTER TEN
Morrow slumped down at the table in the canteen. His plate hit the surface and clattered, spilling some of the warm sauce over the melamine.
“What the fuck is up with you? You have a face like a smacked arse,” said Private Harkiss, moving down the table to avoid the gravy which was slowly flowing towards him.
“Have you been crying?” laughed another soldier.
“Shut your fucking mouth before I kick the shit out of you!” hissed Private Eldridge.
“Yeah, Ok. I was only messing around,” sulked the chastened man. He knew she would follow through on the threat after seeing her take apart several of his friends in the boxing ring.
“What’s up, Paul?” She reached out and held his hand.
“Did you hear the artillery firing earlier?” He looked up and her face was full of genuine concern.
“We all did. It’s about time Baxter started to fight back against the dead fucks, I’m sick of sitting here with my thumb up my ass while they eat the whole world,” she said.
“It’s not like that…” he managed before the tears flowed. Several of the troops snickered but none dared to insult him again.
“What happened?” Eldridge coaxed.
“I found four pockets of survivors,” he said, looking into her eyes which went wide with excitement.
“That’s great, why are you so upset…” the sentence wasn’t finished as she recalled the four heavy sonic pulses that came with the artillery fire. “He wouldn’t fucking dare!” she growled, but Morrow’s face spoke the truth.
“Dirty mother fucker!” Harkiss groaned, “There are hardly any survivors as it is…”
“You couldn’t have known what he would do, you were only following orders,” Eldridge said, pushing the bitter hatred deep down, amassing it for the right moment.
Morrow laughed sickly, “That’s what the German SS troops said before they were executed.”
“I would have told him to go fuck himself,” boasted Harkiss.
“Don’t give me that shit. You would have rolled over and showed your belly the same as most people,” Eldridge countered.
“Shut it, bitch. You don’t know what I am capable of,” growled Harkiss, standing up menacingly.
“Well look at Billy-Big-Bollocks here. You are a scary looking bastard, no wonder the women run away,” Eldridge laughed.
“Want me to show you how dangerous I can be, you whore?” he started to swagger around the table, fists clenched.
“Please do,” Eldridge smiled before turning in her seat, “Sergeant Filton, Harkiss has something he wants to say to the lieutenant.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” snarled Harkiss as their superior marched over.
“Now you get to prove yourself, tough guy,” grinned the female Private wickedly.
Harkiss sat down, face blanching with fear as he tried to avoid the eyes of Filton.
“Well, what is it, Harki
ss?” he demanded, “Stand up when I am talking to you!”
“It was nothing, sir, I was just wanting to thank him for keeping us safe,” blabbered Harkiss.
“Are you taking the piss?” shouted Filton as he stood nose to nose with the subordinate.
“He wasn’t, sir, we all feel grateful to the lieutenant for his leadership qualities,” Eldridge interceded, taking some of the heat from Harkiss. She was a good judge of character and the change that Filton had shown over the past weeks was entirely down to fear at what would happen if the soldiers rose up.
“Well, if that’s the case, I will pass it along,” Filton saluted and went back to his table.
“You cunt, why did you do that? I could have been killed!” growled Harkiss over the table.
“Calm down,” Eldridge whispered, “He is terrified of us. Even if you did tell him to tell Baxter to go fuck himself I doubt he would.”
“It was still a dick move,” he complained and resumed eating.
“Now listen, all of you. The tide is turning; Baxter is bat-shit crazy and more and more people have had enough. We just need to pick the right moment and the base is ours,” she said quietly, looking at each in turn.
“Why would people give a shit. If we just keep our heads down we can ride this out,” whispered a Private from the next table.
“Don’t you want to know what’s happening out there? If your friends and family are safe?” she asked and he nodded sadly.
“Nothing’s happening, everyone’s fucking dead,” muttered Harkiss.
“Those four poor families were surviving, and that is just in this area. There could be thousands of people out there. Not to mention the rest of the Armed Forces, where the fuck are they?” she continued.
