by Ricky Fleet
His cry of fear was cut short as he fell face down towards the zombies, the rope pulling taut and nearly wrenching his hip joints loose.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break the rules!” screamed the man as he swung in the air, inches above the grasping arms of the zombies.
“Yes you did,” Craig said sadly, “Now it’s feeding time.”
“Nooooooooo!”
The others on the platform started to lower the condemned man toward the eager mouths. Thrashing around, he bent at the waist trying to avoid the inevitable, but his injured state made it impossible. The weakened muscles gave up and he stretched out once more, straight into the greedy maws of the dead.
“Tie it off!” shouted Craig and his henchmen obeyed.
Sam wanted to look away, but his brother and the soldier watched the horror with steely eyes. The worst of the feast was masked by the thronging mass of corpses desperate for a taste. Shrieks of agony were cut short and the exposed legs of the poor guard still flexed and kicked. Jonesy couldn’t be sure if the man was dead and the movement was caused by the reaching arms.
“Up!” called Craig.
The rope raised what remained of the man. The legs were intact, but his head, arms and trunk were missing. Entrails swung from the ragged flesh of his pelvis and spinal column and these too were plucked out of the air and stuffed into blood soaked mouths.
“I want every one of you to remind yourself what happens to those who ignore the rules,” Craig ordered and the captives reluctantly shuffled past the platform, looking at the remains.
The children bawled and hid behind their parents, who in turn tried to ignore the streaming blood from the bisected remains. Prayers were uttered by some, while others threw up over the side of the wall, soaking the uncomplaining zombies beneath. Craig laughed at the discomfort and retching, pulling on the rope and making the legs dance in the air.
“Cut him loose, they won’t need another lesson. For a while, anyway,” Craig ordered and the men untied the rope, throwing what was left down like scraps to a pack of dogs.
“Fucking bastard,” snarled Braiden.
“Dad won’t let this go if we tell him,” Sam pointed out and he looked at Jonesy who was grinding his teeth, fighting the urge to shoot as many of them dead as possible.
“For everyone’s sake, we need to keep what we just saw between us for now,” Jonesy appealed to the boys, “When the time comes, we have at least one infiltration point.”
“We have company,” Sam pointed to a pair of zombies meandering across the field.
“Are those handcuffs?”
Jonesy waited until they came closer and one was definitely fastened to the other, their wrists joined. It looked like a policeman had apprehended a suspect and, ignoring normal protocols, had bound them together. It was clear the criminal had turned after being bitten on the neck, then devoured the police officer whose whole body hung in tatters. Now they walked together, always.
“Sam, take care of it. Then we finish our circuit and head home,” Jonesy instructed.
“You got it.”
Sam felt more inclined to shoot the arrested zombie as opposed to the police officer, a peculiar response to the equally deadly pair. The bearing found its mark, punching cleanly through the forehead and mashing the brain. The police officer was now forced to drag the corpse of his prisoner, but before Sam could finish the job, a shout rung out.
“What the fuck? Get the boss, quickly,” shouted one of the lookouts.
“Shit!” Jonesy muttered, “He must have been watching those two cross the field.”
“What’s the problem?” shouted another gruff voice.
“I think someone just took out a dead fuck in that field,” the man explained.
Jonesy risked a quick look and he was pointing straight at them.
“He’s seen us,” whispered Sam in a panic.
“No, I don’t think so. He can see the body but it’s too far to see what happened, plus we are in the shadows,” Jonesy surmised.
“Get me the glasses! Where’s Craig?”
“They’re called binoculars, you fucking moron,” laughed another voice.
“Well aren’t you the English champion,” spat the watcher.
Jonesy knew that as soon as the men could see with the binoculars, their cover would be blown.
“Boys, we need to stay low and quiet. Watch your footing, soft ground only,” he directed and they moved from shadow to shadow, trying to reach the curve in the prison wall behind the shrubs and trees before being discovered.
“Over there, boss, look,” said the man, directing Craig’s eyes.
“So what the fuck am I looking at?” Craig’s voice was getting fainter with distance.
“In the field, one of them fell down,” spluttered the watcher.
“You called me back because a fucking zombie fell over?” roared Craig, stirring the crowd into a frenzy.
“No, I mean I saw it fall over. I think it was shot.”
“By who? Arnold fucking Schwarzenegger? Did you hear a gunshot?” Craig was dragging the man closer to the edge of the platform.
“No. They must have a silencer,” he protested with confusion.
“So, you are telling me that we are being watched by invisible people in the middle of the fucking zombie apocalypse, who just happen to be armed with silenced fucking weapons?” Craig had turned the man around and only the balls of his feet and Craig’s firm grip prevented him tumbling into the horde below.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m confused,” he started to cry.
“Have you taken anything today?” Craig asked like a disappointed parent.
“Only some pills from the pharmacy, they keep me mellow.”
“You fucking twat, you’re hallucinating. Get inside and start scrubbing the shitters, that’s your job now,” Craig pulled the man back and threw him down onto the deck, “Blake?”
“Yes, boss?” came a new voice.
“Consider yourself promoted, you are now part of the watch,” Craig ordered, then pulled his foot back and kicked the previous guard in the ribs.
“I won’t let you down.”
The three watched as Craig continued beating the man from the platform as he tried to crawl away. Whoever stood out of sight below the wall was loving the show, with laughter and clapping at the spectacle.
“That was close.” Braiden let out a pent up breath.
“That was on me, boys, I shouldn’t have given you the order until I was sure it was safe,” Jonesy apologized.
“Keep that one between us too?” Sam asked.
“I think that would be for the best or your Dad will throw me overboard. Let’s go.”
They rounded the corner with a greater appreciation for the attentiveness of the prison’s defenders. Jonesy had made the mistake of assuming that because they were dumb enough to have been locked up in the first place, that they would not carry out their duty responsibly. Their vigilance would prove to be another obstacle when it came to breaching the facility. The moans of the dead gave way to the rush of flowing water as they came to the rear of the compound. The walls were broken by another heavily guarded entrance and tower, although this gate hadn’t been breached as the main bulk of the dead were occupied elsewhere. The concrete ramp that led to it from the water’s edge may have been used at one time for supplies. The fangs of thick, rotten timber that sprouted from the water marked out the shape of the old dock. The shrubbery came to an end and their hiding place with it; they would have to dash the last thirty feet in the open to reach the sloped bank and the angle of cover it provided.
“Where do we go?” Sam whispered, “If we make a run for the riverbank we could be seen.”
“I agree, but if we go back they are already spooked and we could be spotted,” Braiden said.
“Braiden’s right, we go on,” Jonesy nodded, “We wait for an opportunity and then make a break for it.”
They watched the watchers, who watched the
gathered corpses of Ford town. This far from the main road they were only three deep at the walls and the lookouts were less concerned about the danger. After fifteen minutes, cravings got the better of the group and they huddled in a circle to roll themselves a cigarette.
“Now!” Jonesy told the boys and they rushed across the untended field, diving over the edge and skidding down on the loose soil.
They lay in the earth, listening for the shouts that would signal their exposure. The easy chuckles that greeted an unheard joke told the trio that their cover wasn’t blown, so they soldier crawled through the mud until they were out of sight.
“You did great, lads, like proper troopers,” Jonesy said and the youngsters beamed with pride.
Time was against them and the methodical scouting mission had taken longer than Jonesy had planned for. They chose to call off collecting the fishing rods and tools until another day, it wasn’t as if they were going anywhere. The final section of wall was the easiest to observe unseen. With a growing population, the small town had seen a growth in construction of both houses and commercial premises to cater for the burgeoning business opportunities. Each building was separated by an access alley that led to a steel fence which looked out onto the prison. The only thing of note on the western section was a small, recently erected compound.
“What’s that for?” Sam asked.
“It’s a contractor’s yard, see the signs?” Jonesy pointed to the ‘Morton Atkins’ banners that had been cable tied to the mobile railings; the name of a well-known construction company.
“They must have been doing some building work inside the prison before the shit hit the fan,” Braiden assumed.
“I think we have another way in,” Sam said.
The site ‘offices’ consisted of converted shipping containers stacked atop one another. Windows and doors were cut into the thick, corrugated metal walls and temporary stairs had been constructed to reach the higher levels.
“They are taller than the wall,” Jonesy was giving it some thought, “We could set up a zip wire and get across.”
“The watchtowers are nowhere near that part of the wall either. In the dark they wouldn’t even know,” Braiden voiced Jonesy’s observation.
“We have some good points of entry, not including any tunnels we can find with Jason’s help. This mission was a success, now let’s get back to a warm meal.” Jonesy patted them both on the back.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At least it isn’t hopeless,” nodded DB at the news.
“Not at all. If anything I feel confident we may have a good chance of keeping innocent casualties to a minimum,” Jonesy agreed.
“What are you up to, Dad?” Kurt asked as John fiddled with something.
“Just winding the radio up,” he said, turning to them, “I want to see if there is any more news.”
Gabrielle was in the middle of a recap speech, repeating the information that was unknown to any new listeners, but not the group who had picked her up from day one. Her tone of voice was tired and the constant repetition of the horrific events was obviously taking a toll. After a ten-minute coffee break, she tried to bring some life to the broadcast with the caffeine buzz.
“This is Gabrielle, your friendly zompoc shock jock. So the search for a cure has hit the buffers and the Daresford Institute has drawn a blank with decoding the pulse. We are assured they will keep working on it, but without the experiment notes from the Hadron Collider scientists it is nearly impossible.”
“Damn,” John grumbled, “I was hoping for more than that.”
“We all were,” admitted Gloria, sitting beside him and stroking his leg in support.
“Now for some good news, or bad news depending on your point of view. I am in direct contact with what remains of the government. The prime minister and most of the cabinet managed to reach safety before the Houses of Parliament fell and are now working on a plan to fight back.”
“Typical politicians,” Jonesy said, throwing his hands in the air, “They are like rats; impossible to get rid of.”
“The command structure has been reestablished on HMS Dauntless, with the surviving heads of all three wings of the armed forces now safely aboard. Communication and agreement between the two parties is strained, with disagreements on the strategies with which to attempt to retake the British Isles. Estimates from Admiral Wright put the combined combat readiness at less than five percent, and he is unwilling to engage in open warfare with the hordes now in control of our country. The government feel that risks must be taken to secure a beachhead on the mainland, and that this will then allow the gradual reclamation of towns and cities over the coming months.”
“What a fucking joke. How the hell can they try and make decisions hiding underground?” DB muttered.
“Maybe they should offer to lead from the front and show us how it is done,” Jonesy replied, shaking his head.
“Can you imagine how afraid the zombies would be facing off against the might of Her Majesty’s loyal government,” John sneered.
“I will bring you more news on the coordinated response as I receive it, but don’t hold your breath. In the meantime, the remnants of the armed forces have gathered on high ground in strategic positions which provide the best security. Parts of the Brecon Beacons, Chiltern Mountains, and the Pennines have all been fortified as much as possible, with their lack of accessibility aiding in their defensive potential. I’m sure anyone listening will join me in a prayer for their continued safety.”
“At least there are survivors,” offered Peter to the soldiers.
“I hope we can somehow join forces and help, but the logistics of supplying even a small force is incredible. With the dead around every corner and bases overrun, I can’t see what they can do other than sit there,” DB said.
“The first thing they should be doing is securing as much equipment and weaponry as possible, that way at least they are being proactive. You’re right though, if the bases are zombie city then it is hopeless,” Jonesy sighed.
“I am pleased to announce through the shit storm of unimaginable horror, that pockets of survivors have been identified by satellite imagery on the Dauntless. Groups numbering less than five and more than a hundred have managed to seal themselves off from the dead, we just have to hope they can survive the winter. In my brief conversations with the admiral, I have suggested supply drops for the plucky humans, though I have no idea if it will be agreed. With the temperatures plunging, the danger from freezing or starving is greater than that of the undead at this stage.”
She signed off and the group looked at each other.
“At least we aren’t completely alone,” smiled Sarah.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“This ends today,” said Eldridge as they made their way back to the barracks from the execution.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” replied Harkiss who was following.
“I mean tonight we take this place back, winner takes all. I can’t go through another one of that bastard’s ‘I’m killing this soldier for your own good’ speeches,” she explained and several of the other soldiers nodded.
“Quiet!” whispered Harkiss, “The walls have ears. Come on, get inside.”
They arrived at the bunks and pulled the door closed. Seating themselves, they leaned in close to keep their voices low.
“How many do we know for certain are with Baxter?” Eldridge asked.
“About thirty, which means we have the advantage of numbers,” replied Gladstone, a newer member of the mutinous group.
“And we know for sure that once we take out a few of the key players, the rest will fall into line to save their own hides.”
“There is just one problem,” Harkiss said, arms wide in frustration, “We don’t have any fucking guns.”
“It will be a bloodbath,” said Gladstone honestly.
“No it won’t, that is why we are here,” Eldridge declared.
“Do you have weapons then?”
“Are you shitting me? That fucking coward is going to help? Help get us killed more like,” Harkiss grumbled. The plan was turning to shit already.
“Everyone has their limit. Growler has been riding him so hard he is either going to kill him or himself,” Eldridge insisted.
Growler, real name Corporal Groll, was so named because he didn’t breathe as much as rumble like an animal. Exercises were always a noisy affair, but the hilarity ended at his exhalations. He was a pure loyalist to Baxter, violent, and not shy in doling it out. Hague was always heavily bruised around the face these days and walked with a limp.
“I’ve seen the looks he gives that fucker,” Derby affirmed, “He will do what’s needed.”
“We need to take the armory without raising the alarm or it will be near impossible. As soon as the claxons start, the guards will cut anyone down they see,” Eldridge stressed.The tension had been building like a pressure cooker for weeks and everyone knew something would have to give. Baxter’s soldiers such as Moseby and Filton would throw down their weapons and beg for mercy; the same couldn’t be said for Rabson and Trimble, the communications room guards. They would die on their feet, taking as many of the mutinous soldiers as they could.
“There is also the matter of how we get up close and personal with the armory guards. They are under orders to shoot anyone that even approaches the lockup,” Harkiss pointed out.
Eldridge smiled, “I have that covered.”
Standing up, she lifted her mattress and pulled out a thick, wooden chopping block that she had stolen. It was covered in gouges and chunks were missing from the edges.
“What the hell is a chopping board meant to do?” Derby questioned, frowning.
“This,” she answered and placed the board against the wall.
Taking out two small kitchen knives concealed within her pillowcase, she felt the weight of the blades. With a fluid motion, she launched one and it embedded, point first, into the wood.
