The Undead (Book 23): The Fort

by Haywood, R. R.

  Lenski walks through the outer gate onto the beach outside the fort. Tall, blonde and born with an instinct for survival coupled with a desire to work and be useful, to be productive and make things run properly. Things should be done properly.

  She nods at Donald straightening his posture as though coming to attention from slouching. A man in his sixties with a big paunchy belly, a rifle strapped to his shoulder and a pipe stuck in his mouth, but at least he’s working.

  The first family reach the shore. The mum, dad and two children from Gloucester.

  ‘My name is Lenski. I no smile so much. I not angry though. Is just me and way I am. Yes? Come…’ she leads them into the fort, pausing to let them gawp at the size of it and the spectacle of people working. ‘I take names please,’ she asks as they walk, her mind thinking of Maddox as she jots the names down. Lenski likes Maddox but holds no real deep feelings for him. Maddox was kind and gave her security when she needed it. In return, she gave herself. Not like a hooker. Lenski isn’t a whore. It wasn’t like that, and besides, Maddox is handsome and strong. A good man too. He’s just young and needs guidance.

  ‘You have the two children yes?’ she asks, feeling a pang of awful sadness that the mum and dad have tried to make them look clean before bringing them into the fort.

  ‘Lenski, It’s Ann. Another group on their way.’

  ‘Is busy,’ Lenski mutters, thinking to ask this family to wait while she collects the next one up as she spots a large woman trying to slink out of the offices. ‘What you do?’ she snaps in her hard voice.

  ‘Eh?’ the woman startles, looking trapped for a second. ‘I didn’t do anything.’ A big round belly and a set of chins that wobble when she speaks. Dark greasy hair pulled back. Filthy clothes and stained teeth that show as she smiles nervously. Lenski has seen her about for the last few days, skulking at the back and staying quiet.

  ‘What your name?’ she asks bluntly. ‘What you do in office?’

  ‘Pamela. Nothing! Honestly, I was just…like um, seeing if you wanted a cuppa or something?’ she trails off, trying to smile as she edges away.

  ‘You want to work? Yes? This is good. Go down to the gate. Wait for new people. Bring them here. Wait with them. Take names, write down. Ages, dates of birth, skills, you see like on the other sheets. Is so busy. I cannot be in all the places…’

  ‘But, so right…I mean, I’ve got this bad knee and…’ Pamela trails off, offering another smile of dirty teeth. ‘But sure. Like, totally glad to help…’ she limps away, too startled and too scared of Lenski to do otherwise.

  She saw the office was empty when she walked by and only wanted to see the rooms Lilly killed all the kids in. The last thing Pamela wanted was to do any actual work.

  ‘How do,’ Donald the guard says, puffing on his pipe.

  ‘Lenski told me,’ Pamela blurts watching as the scared people clamber from the boat. All adults. All sullen and scared. Pamela sets off through the gates and gets several steps before realising she is alone and goes back to see them on the shore with their bags.

  ‘I think you need to tell them to follow you,’ Donald says.

  ‘Er…right…so…follow me then…’ she offers a smile and watches as they struggle to carry their bags and traipse in after her and she doesn’t pause to give them a few seconds to gawp at the fort.

  ‘Jesus,’ one of the men mutters at the size and sight of it.

  ‘Yeah right,’ Pamela says. ‘Wasn’t always like this. Maddox and his lot like totally fucked it over and kicked off and Lani got killed but then Lilly threw some grenades in and blew the little shits all over the place, now it’s better…’

  ‘What the fuck?’ the man mutters, sharing horrified looks with his group as they reach the offices and stop with Pamela standing in the doorway, remembering that Lenski told her to take their names. She grabs a clipboard from a table and finds a pen.

  ‘Er, I need to take your names, and like dates of birth and…er…something about peanuts or bee-stings. So…’

  ‘Sorry what?’ the man asks.

  ‘What?’ Pamela asks.

  ‘What did you want?’ the man asks, clearly confused.

  ‘You might as well do it,’ Pamela says, thrusting the clipboard and pen at him.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Write your names down and ages and if you’re allergic to bees and stuff.’

  ‘Bees?’ someone else asks. ‘Are there bees here?’

  ‘Why would we have bees?’ Pamela asks.

  ‘You just said…’ the man starts to say.

  ‘And peanuts,’ Pamela adds, nodding at them. ‘I don’t know. Lenski just told me to do it. I don’t even know why…I was just like walking past and she was like all angry and go and get the new people and make them write their names down…’

  ‘Right,’ the man says. ‘Sure. Er…yeah I can do that…’

  Pamela waits as they write on the clipboard, stealing glances at their stuff and the clothes the women are wearing and assessing if the men are hot or not. She turns to look inside the offices, spotting the tea and coffee stuff at the back and a packet of open biscuits. Anyone in the fort can get a brew whenever they want from the central section. The hot water thing is always on, but they don’t have biscuits, and Pamela really likes biscuits.

  ‘I say you do this…’

  Pamela snaps her head over as Lenski takes the clipboard from the group while glaring at Pamela. ‘I say you write down. Not them. They not put dates of birth or allergies or who they are with…’

  ‘Oh, oh right,’ Pamela says quickly. ‘Your accent sorry, didn’t hear you. I thought you said tell them to write it down.’

  ‘I do this now. Go to gates. Bring next ones here…you write down names. Not them. Yes?’

  ‘Okay!’ Pamela says, seeing everyone staring at her. ‘Like I’m totally happy to help and do my bit, like…you know…all working to get the fort going after Lilly killed the little fuckers…’

  ‘Go!’

  ‘I’m going!’ Pamela blurts, rushing off back towards the gates, adding her limp then forgetting it when she goes through.

  ‘How do,’ the guard says.

  ‘Fuck,’ Pamela says, spotting the next boat coming in. ‘That’s all we need…’

  ‘You meeting them again?’ the boat driver calls.

  Pamela nods, looking at the dark-skinned people and their dark beards and turbans and the women in clothes that look halfway between normal and Indian. ‘My. Name. Is. Pamela,’ she says slowly when they disembark, clustered together with bags and rucksacks. ‘I. Am. Going. To. Show. You. The. Fort…yes?’ she asks, nodding at them.

  ‘Are you alright, babs?’ Pardip asks her, wondering why she is speaking so slowly. ‘Anika, she alright?’

  ‘You banged your head, love?’ Anika asks.

  ‘What! Oh…haha! Right…yeah, sorry…thought you were like foreign or something,’ Pamela says. ‘I mean like foreign foreign and not just like…er…’

  ‘Did you want us to follow you, love?’ Pardip asks when Pamela walks off.

  ‘Yeah you need to follow her,’ the guard says.

  Pardip leads his group in through the gates, pausing as he runs a professional eye over the space and constructions while Jaspal instinctively looks to the wirings running about the place feeding from solar panels set against the walls. ‘Lot of wood work going on, Sim,’ Pardip adds. ‘You’ll be busy.’

  ‘If they want it all falling down you mean,’ Jaspal quips, earning a dig in the arm from his brother.

  ‘They seemed nice on the beach though,’ Sunnie says.

  ‘Fiver on someone thinking we’re Muslim within an hour,’ Simar says.

  ‘Sorry!’ Pamela calls, walking back towards them having rushed off towards the offices. ‘You need to follow me…’

  Up to the offices and Pamela grabs a clipboard and pen then turns back to the group coming to a stop outside and feels a rush of panic that their names will be really complex and hard to s
pell.

  ‘Er, so…I have to take your names and…’

  ‘We did that on the beach,’ Sunnie says.

  ‘Sorry what? Your accent is really strong,’ Pamela says, leaning towards her.

  ‘I don’t have an accent, love,’ Sunnie says.

  ‘Sorry, can you just speak slower. I’m doing my best here…I need to take your names. Er…just spell them for me, oh hang on, are you called Muhammed or something?’

  ‘Boom!’ Simar says. ‘Less than a minute…’

  ‘That doesn’t count,’ Jaspal says.

  ‘We don’t have a mosque,’ Pamela adds, rushing the words out.

  ‘Cock it,’ Jaspal mutters as Simar laughs.

  ‘Hello there!’ John’s voice booms out as he rushes towards the group with Lenski. ‘You’re the golden family, right?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that mate,’ Pardip laughs, moving out to grasp John’s hand.

  ‘I heard we have a cook here,’ Agatha calls, appearing from the other side while pointing at them all in turn until Sunnie lifts a hand and gets a hug in greeting. ‘Bless you, we’re desperate we are,’ Agatha says.

  Pamela watches on. Confused as to why John and Agatha are being so nice and figures it’s because the new people are Muslims or something and they’re just trying to show they’re not racist. Then she worries she appeared racist and then worries it will stop her being able to hang about in the offices and eat biscuits. ‘I love Indian food…’ she blurts, earning a confused look from Anika.

  ‘You have drink. I do this now,’ Lenski says to Pamela.

  ‘In here?’ Pamela asks, motioning the office.

  ‘Yes. Sure. Get drink. Stay in shade. Is hot. Sit down, see sheets, learn what we do and help. We need help…’

  Pamela slips into the offices proper, relishing being inside the place where Lilly threw the grenades, glancing at the walls and the chunks of masonry missing from the blast. To the back and she sets water to heat while staring at the biscuits. It’s not that Pamela eats a lot. It’s a thyroid thing. A gland problem. She practically doesn’t eat. Still, at least she told the new family she likes Indian food so they won’t think she’s racist.

  She makes tea with three sugars and four mini-pots of long-life milk and the second Lenski walks off she stuffs two in her mouth to chew quickly while more go into her filthy pockets for later.

  Chapter Six

  It’s taking too long. Everything is taking too long, and Lilly looks down the shore road to the beach and clenches her jaw, feeling nothing but frustration and inadequacy inside.

  There are too many structures to pull down and not enough people working. New caravans are arriving every few minutes, bringing new people that can work and help, but they need to find a position to pitch on and then get set up and sorted, and that takes time. Everything takes time. Too much time.

  She stands on the shore road staring this way and that. Plant machines flattening the structures already pulled down, but there are so many more to go and every one of the standing buildings is a place the infected can hide in.

  She needs more drivers for the vans and more people to help unpack the houses and she needs them to be faster in dumping the contents on the beach, but then the people on the beach can’t cope with the amount of stuff they’ve got coming in. More refugees too, which is good as that means more workers, but they need to rest and recover, and so the pressure grows. Pressure unrelenting. A crackle on the radio and she cocks her head over, listening to the transmission.

  ‘Lilly. It Lenski. Simar, he is the carpenter. He say the houses there are made of wood but he needs the wood, oh shit, I have no idea what he says. Wait please…’ another crackle of static. A few voices heard talking before a deep male brummie accent comes through. ‘Alright, it’s Simar. John said you’re pulling them houses down. They’re timber framed they are. Can you get the wood to the fort? We can use that…’

  Lilly looks up the road to the houses and structures. At the moment they are simply flattening them, so picking the wood out means a whole new effort. Another priority. Another task that needs doing as soon as possible, but it has to be done. If they fail then people will die. If the weather changes and they don’t have sufficient shelter then people will be exposed, and Agatha cannot cook food out in the open for very long.

  ‘Sure,’ Lilly says. ‘We’ll get the wood to you…’ she breaks the transmission and turns with a sinking sensation in her gut at the shore road now completely blocked. The vans and pick-ups jammed in with the caravans and the new arrivals. People on foot walking down with bags. Kyle and Joan in amongst them all trying to get people to pull over to make room to ease the backlog as Lilly tracks the line of vehicles all the way down to the beach and grabs her radio.

  ‘Lilly to the beach…what’s going on?’ she pauses, waiting for a reply and tries again when none comes. ‘Lilly to the beach…can anyone hear me?’

  ‘I DON’T THINK THEY CAN HEAR YOU,’ Kyle yells.

  ‘WHAT’S GOING ON?’ she yells back. He shrugs, holding his hands out as she nods grimly, motioning back that she’ll go down and see.

  On the beach, Norman stands back to mop the sweat from his brow. His once white office shirt now glued to his back. His grey suit trousers clinging to his legs, rubbing and chafing.

  Why did he dress like this? He looks down at himself, barely remembering leaving his house. He was in such a state of shock. He just got dressed and must have reverted to putting his normal work clothes on. Someone shouting on the radio. He thinks it might be Lilly, but he misses it.

  A glance about. The end of the narrow shore road now clogged with the ditched and abandoned cars used by the new arrivals. Too many of them stretching down alongside the beach. He spots piles of crap on the edge of the sand too. The van drivers ditching their loads at the closest point possible to get back up the road, and those piles are now preventing cars from moving over to create space. Caravans too, blocking the road as they try and punch through to the camp.

  Vehicles sounding horns. Van drivers waiting to ditch more loads so they can get back for more. Workers on the beach drowning under the sheer weight of goods they have to deal with and Sally shouting at everyone, the stress and heat getting too much. Caravan drivers tooting horns to get through, so they can pitch in the camp and help out. Diesel fumes in the air. Men with guns. Women with guns. Everyone seems to have a gun. Norman doesn’t have a gun.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Lilly shouts out, striding towards him. Her face as red and sweating as everyone else but etched with determination and annoyance as she looks to the blocked beach and the blocked road and the sheer bedlam in every direction.

  ‘The cars,’ Norman says.

  ‘Pardon?’ she walks up to him, her arms at her side. Her rifle strapped to her back. Startling blue eyes and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

  ‘The cars,’ he says again. ‘We need to move these cars…’

  Lilly follows his gaze and spots the abandoned cars left at the end of the road and turns as she looks back down, following the line of them as she brings her radio to her mouth.

  ‘Peter, it’s Lilly. We need somewhere to put the cars being left here…we can’t move at the moment.’

  ‘Get them into that burnt out land behind my camp…I’ve got a few lads flattening it out to make room…and we’re having the fuel out to run the generators too…’

  ‘Brilliant. Thank you, Peter…can anyone near the beach that can drive come and grab a car please…WE NEED THESE CARS MOVING…’

  More minutes wasted finding people to drive, then more time goes by as they rush over and ask what’s happening and did someone say they need drivers?

  ‘You’re looking busy there, Blondie…’ the red-haired woman from the camp calls as she saunters into view. ‘You wanting these cars moved are you?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Lilly calls over.

  ‘Right. So I can drive a car but I can’t carry a gun, is that right?’

  ‘Par
don?’ Lilly asks as she realises Mary is staring past her to Tyson and Patrick.

  ‘Jesus, Mary. You’re like a broken record,’ Tyson yells.

  ‘And you’re a broken record sexist prick,’ she yells back, getting into the car and slamming the door closed. ‘AND YOU PATRICK,’ she yells from the window.

  ‘I can drive one,’ Norman says, seeing people rushing in to grab cars and wishing to keep busy and stay busy to try and stop the pain in his heart from swallowing him whole.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Lilly says without hesitation. ‘I want to see it anyway. Ready?’

  They take an old Ford Focus and Norman adjusts the seat as Lilly takes the passenger side, pushing her rifle between her legs as she gets in. ‘Just follow them,’ she says.

  ‘You can’t drive then?’ he asks.

  ‘Not safely,’ she replies. ‘And not with so many people about…just follow everyone else I guess.’

  Norman starts the engine and sets off. Driving from the road to bounce over the grass and heading north towards a wide access point leading to a place that looks like hell. Everything blackened and broken. Piles of bricks, masonry and chunks of houses scattered all over the ground and he slows as a huge digger goes thundering by driven by a spotty bare-chested teenage boy with a huge grin scooping a big pile of masonry away. More plant machinery doing the same, flattening the ground to make it usable and Norman follows the other cars to the far side.

  ‘What was this?’ he asks.

  ‘Housing estate,’ Lilly replies. ‘Dave blew it up when the fort was attacked.’

  Norman doesn’t reply. What do you say to that anyway? It stinks something awful, and the searing heat of the day seems so much worse for the broken surroundings.

  A row of cars already parked with the kids sliding them in with handbrake turns, laughing and joking as they make a game of it. More kids with tubes, syphoning the fuel from the vehicles into big pots that get poured into bigger drums. An access road leading in with more men with guns standing sentry.