The Undead (Book 23): The Fort

by Haywood, R. R.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Emily growls. A timid librarian before this. ‘Strap it up and get me back in.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Kyle booms. ‘We need that energy. Come on! We can clear this…’

  Chaos on the beach too. The boat drivers and everyone else now up the road working with Lilly.

  Norman, Mary, Ann and Anika start off working together to process the new arrivals but then the builders in the fort soon start calling out for more wood, and the new arrivals need ferrying over. Mary jumps in, driving boats back and forth, carrying heavy wood, sweating and cursing the same as everyone else, and when the road fills with cars they call grinning Bobby down to help drive them away into the blackened old estate and a landscape changing all around them minute by minute. Back to the road. Back to work. Back to sweating. More new people. More cars. Load the wood. Ferry the boats. Drive the cars into the old estate.

  Then it gets busier as the hurt workers soon start making their way to see Ann and Anika. People with cuts, bashes, bruises and broken bones.

  ‘We need shelter,’ Anika says, surrounded by people near-on passing out from heat-stroke and dehydration. ‘There’s no shade here…’

  ‘Right you are,’ Mary says. ‘Norman, give me a hand now will you,’ she heads off into the camp with Norman close behind, ducking under washing hanging out to dry, smelling fires and spotting women and girls everywhere, preparing food and scrubbing clothes. Norman recognises a few of the faces from his previous visit and nods in greeting as Mary gets jibes shouted at her. Mostly good natured and without malice, although Norman does spot a few desultory glances.

  ‘There she is,’ a woman calls out, grinning at Mary. ‘Heard you left us, Mary.’

  ‘Cooking’s not good enough for you is it, Mary?’ another asks with a smile.

  ‘Cooking bores me stupid,’ Mary tells Norman.

  ‘It’s very traditional here then,’ Norman remarks as they walk through.

  ‘Aye, is,’ she replies. ‘Not so bad now maybe. Some girls get to college, a few go and have careers too, but most want to be married by eighteen and popping babies out. Don’t get me wrong now, I’m not judging them but there’s more to life than wearing a frilly dress and growing things in my womb.’

  ‘Right. Yes of course,’ he says.

  ‘Uncle Jack,’ she says, coming to a stop to knock on an open caravan door. ‘Will ye let me have that big old tent thing.’

  ‘No!’ a shout from inside. A harsh voice, old and deep.

  ‘Ach, you grumpy old shit,’ she yells back, marching inside. ‘Give me the bloody tent…’

  Norman listens to the shouts and yells as more people join in, all of them seeming to go from calm and passive to all out screaming in a split second. Bangs sound out and even what sounds like a punch until Mary comes out dragging a big white roll. ‘Grab the end of that will you,’ she says with a grin to Norman.

  ‘Did you want a hand?’ Uncle Jack asks, appearing in the door, old, stooped and grey.

  ‘Nah, you go and rest Uncle Jack.’

  Norman grabs the end and sets off back to the beach, wondering what just happened and shooting glances back to the caravan. ‘He was okay with you taking it then?’ he asks.

  ‘Ach, course he was. My Uncle Jack is lovely,’ she says. ‘In a manner of ways…’ she adds as they cross the shore road towards the beach.

  At the other end of the shore road, Lilly counts the structures. Eight houses emptied. Four to go. Heavy plant machines roaring as they work, and the air fills with bangs and crashes as brick and timber structures are taken down and the good building timber dragged free. Nearly every man capable of work from Peter’s camp sweating and cursing while Lilly’s teams rush in and out of doors to stack the contents at the side of the road, and that road stays busy with the diggers and scoopers and new cars coming in every few minutes filled with terrified refugees. Some arrive on foot. Tanned, weathered and shell-shocked only to be told to keep going down to see Norman.

  A scream from inside a house. They all run in to see Jillian spraying blood from a deep laceration in her hand caused by the glass on a broken mirror. A dressing applied, and she goes out into the automatic van driven by a cursing Brian. Down to Ann and Anika. Localised painkiller injected. Stitches given. Half hour later she’s back with Martin. His arm now in a sling. Jane Parker now hydrated with water and Lucozade and back in the fray they go.

  ‘They’re fecking mad,’ Peter mutters, wiping the sweat from his head with the back of a hand.

  ‘FUCK!’ Sam shouts, a chair landing on her foot.

  ‘WANKER,’ Pea yells, banging her elbow hard enough to jar her teeth.

  ‘Keep it going, fast as you can now,’ Kyle shouts, clapping his hands. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Buttons undone. Face gleaming with sweat.

  ‘Almost there,’ Lilly calls, sweeping the contents from a food cupboard into a big bag. A grunt from a huge splinter driving into her arm. She uses her teeth to pull it free, spits it out, binds her arm in a tea towel and carries on.

  Ten houses emptied. Two to go and she speeds up. Pushing harder. Moving faster. In and out. Stacking goods. Bedding dumped. Food scooped into bags. Another collapse from the heat. ‘Get her down to Ann,’ Lilly snarls. Furious at the delays.

  On it goes. It will never end. This work will last forever and every minute seems to take an hour to pass, and each hour feels a day as that agony goes on.

  But then, after several gruelling hours the last wooden dining room chair is thrown onto the last mound outside the last house and those still on their feet stand with their arms at their sides and chests heaving while the sweat drips from noses and chins, running in rivers down faces in the awful, crushing heat. A battle waged and won. Victory claimed.

  ‘Good,’ Lilly says, hand on her hips. Her rifle slung on her back. ‘GOOD,’ she booms, her face flushed, her eyes blazing. Blinky is dead. She doesn’t know where Nick is. Howie left her here to do this on her own. Fuck him. Her father failed to protect her and Billy too. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. She will make it happen. She will absolutely see it through and that energy flows out, touching everyone around her, making them work when any sane person would say no, it’s too much. Something raw and pure and strong. ‘From that fort,’ she calls, pointing down the bay. ‘We will be able to see past this point to where the wall will go. That will save lives if we are attacked. We did this. You did this. Well done…’

  A few words spoken but enough to lift chins and spirits. They might not be out with Howie fighting, but not every battle is fought with a gun or an axe.

  ‘Okay, van drivers, get the loads sorted…everyone else back to the beach.’

  ‘Is it alright for you, doc?’ Mary asks on the beach, standing back with her hands on her hips while blowing up her face to rid the strands of red hair falling over one eye. A big marquee tent now in place where the sun umbrellas were. Old and torn in places. The sides covered in stains and grime, but ready to function as a very rudimentary field hospital HQ filled with furniture taken from the huge mound on the beach.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Ann calls, tending a drowsy woman taken out by heat and dehydration. A panicked glance up to more people coming in from Lilly’s work-team. Broken bones. Twisted ankles. Cuts needing stitches. Men from Peter’s work teams the same. Kids from the old estate and all of them suffering the effects of heat-stroke on top of whatever else has hurt them.

  ‘We’ll be okay,’ Anika says. An emergency room nurse used to frantic pressure. An unflappable manner, her voice so calm and soothing.

  Norman takes over on the road, processing the new arrivals. Asking the questions. Filling the forms out and only sending people to Ann and Anika if they look like they’re about to die.

  He glances down the beach as he draws air, spotting Ken and Janet from the fort heading up towards him. ‘Norman? Hi…sorry…Lenski said to ask you about a vehicle?’

  ‘A vehicle?’ Norman asks.

  ‘Yeah, er…we’re going to see if we ca
n find our daughter…she’s down near Bournemouth.’

  ‘Sure, yes of course. See that road? Go up that to the old estate. Bobby’s in there…he’s only ten but…whatever, see Bobby. He’ll find you a car, and probably give you a Snickers too, but they’re nice and cold.’

  ‘Right,’ Ken says, nodding slowly at Norman. ‘Snickers. Sure.’

  ‘He’s got a fridge. Good luck,’ Norman says, turning away to work on. ‘Oh and ask him if he knows where we can find a spare generator from.’

  ‘Will do,’ Ken says. ‘Right. Generator. Yep. We’ll er, we’ll ask Bobby.’

  ‘Aye,’ Norman says, waving them on as he stops at the next vehicle on the road. A white mini-van. Sleek and modern looking. A woman behind the driver’s wheel. Middle-aged and worried looking. ‘Hi, I’m Norman. Welcome to the fort…just need to go through some things with you. Can I ask you to step out and open the back for me please…’

  ‘They said on the way in to ask you,’ the woman says, dropping out.

  ‘Sorry, they said to ask what?’ Norman asks, following her around to the back of the van.

  ‘About the cats,’ the woman says.

  ‘What cats?’ Norman asks as she opens the back door. ‘Oh, those cats,’ he says, seeing the crates stacked up in the back of the van. Each of them filled with a cat. ‘Right. You have cats.’

  ‘I said I had cats,’ the woman says. ‘Up the road. I said I had cats. They said to come down and tell you I had cats.’

  ‘Right,’ Norman says. ‘How many cats are there?’

  ‘Ten cats.’

  ‘Right. And er…they’re all yours are they?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t steal other people’s cats.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘They’re all my cats. From my house.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I like cats.’

  ‘I can see…’

  ‘I’m not leaving them. I’m not. I won’t go in without my cats…’

  ‘Right,’ Norman says again, wiping the sweat from his face.

  ‘I’ve got food. Cat food I mean. And some human food. But mainly cat food…and the good stuff. Not the cheap stuff. My cats don’t like the cheap stuff…’

  ‘How’s it going there?’ Mary asks, sauntering around to stand next to Norman staring into the back of the white mini-van as the road starts filling with Lilly’s teams all returning. ‘Ah, that’s a lot of cats.’

  ‘Ten cats,’ Norman says.

  ‘Ten cats you say?’ Mary asks.

  ‘Yes,’ the woman says. ‘Ten cats.’

  ‘Right,’ Mary says. ‘Are they all yours?’

  ‘She doesn’t steal other people’s cats,’ Norman replies.

  ‘I don’t steal other people’s cats,’ the woman says. ‘And I have food.’

  ‘She has cat food,’ Norman says.

  ‘Cat food you say,’ Mary says.

  ‘Not the cheap stuff,’ Norman says.

  ‘They don’t like the cheap stuff,’ the woman says.

  ‘Right,’ Mary says. ‘Well, I guess if our food runs out we can always eat the cats…’

  ‘She’s joking,’ Norman says quickly at the reaction of alarm on the woman.

  ‘I’m joking,’ Mary says. ‘But seriously, I’d eat a cat if I was starving I would…’

  ‘What’s that in there you’re looking at?’ Kyle asks, walking over with Lilly as everyone else heads for the new HQ marquee on the beach and some blessed shade.

  ‘Cats,’ Norman says. ‘How is it at your end?’

  ‘Done,’ Kyle says. ‘Peter’s team are on the last one now.’

  ‘Cats,’ Lilly says, staring into the back of the van.

  ‘Ten cats to be precise,’ Mary tells her.

  ‘Ten cats?’ Lilly asks.

  ‘They’re all hers,’ Mary says. ‘She doesn’t steal other people’s cats.’

  ‘I don’t steal other people’s cats,’ the woman says.

  ‘New marquee is it?’ Kyle asks, nodding past the mini-van to the new marquee.

  ‘Mary sorted it,’ Norman says.

  ‘Cracking good stuff there, Mary,’ Kyle says.

  ‘Cheers, Father.’

  ‘Kyle, not Father.’

  ‘Right you are,’ Mary says. ‘We’ve got furniture in it too. Beds and chairs and the like. That was Norman’s idea. And we’re on the scrounge for a generator too.’

  ‘I’ve asked Bobby,’ Norman says.

  ‘Bobby?’ Lilly asks.

  ‘The Snickers kid. His mum gave us the stew last night.’

  ‘Oh of course,’ Lilly says. ‘That was nice stew.’

  ‘Aye, it was a nice stew,’ Kyle says.

  ‘Kathy makes a nice stew she does,’ Mary says.

  ‘What was in it?’ Lilly asks.

  ‘Cat I think,’ Mary says.

  ‘She’s joking,’ Norman says to the panic-stricken cat owner.

  ‘I’m joking,’ Mary says. ‘But seriously, I would eat a cat if I was starving. Not a dog though. I like dogs.’

  ‘Do you like dogs?’ Kyle asks her.

  ‘Aye, do you like dogs?’ Mary asks in reply.

  ‘Aye, I like dogs,’ Kyle says.

  ‘What about these cats?’ Norman asks.

  ‘WATCH IT…THE FECKING IDIOT WON’T STOP…’

  A shouted radio transmission as shots ring out. Rifles firing from the end of the shore road. A burst of them and at that second, so the noise of a diesel engine screaming out in third gear punches through the other noises. Snapping every head over to a big red panel van accelerating towards them with guards firing shots into the engine block as the van swerves left and right, careering madly.

  Mary and Lilly spin round and burst away to run down past the line of vehicles holding the new arrivals waiting to be processed as Lilly reaches back to pull her rifle forward. Angry yells and shouts of alarm on the radio almost lost in the noise of gunfire. Kyle running on the other side of the row of vehicles. Norman a few steps behind and everyone else pouring from the marquee tent on the beach. Shouts of alarm. Men shouting in the radio and another flurry of shots.

  Everything happening so fast. No time to think. No time for thought. The van coming in hard with no signs of stopping. The distance closing. The van will smash into the cars or worse, it will veer onto the beach and into the people there or hit the big tent. The engine screaming out. The speed still gaining but with the sunlight bouncing off the windscreen they can’t see anything inside.

  ‘THE WHEELS,’ Kyle yells out, drawing his pistols while knowing the distance and the motion of the vehicle is too much for his small calibre rounds. He starts firing, aiming for the tyres. ‘SHOOT THE WHEELS,’ he shouts again. If they kill the driver the van could still slam into them all.

  Lilly brings her rifle up and tries tracking the van, plucking shots off but worrying about missing and hitting the guards chasing the van down the road.

  Everyone else is too far back on the beach. Joan trying to run but the soft sand impedes her speed, the same for all of them. Sam and Pea, Tyson and Patrick. Other guards with guns too far back and with other people between them and the van.

  Kyle brings his pistols side by side, sighting both on the driver’s tyre and he fires fast, sending shots in that miss and ping off. Then a burst of air and the tyre blows out, sending fragments of hot rubber spinning off as the van drops down onto the rim. The steering hit and the van slews at an angle as Kyle turns on the spot, firing both pistols at the other wheel as Lilly fires her rifle. Both missing with several shots until it blows out with a pop and once again sending chunks of rubber flying off across the road. The van drops with a bang. The steel wheel rims digging into the road. Sparks flying. The van careering and swerving. The engine still screaming out as the van gets close enough for them to see a single person in the front. A man waving his arms in panic as the van slews out of control before coming to a juddering stop.

  ‘DON’T SHOOT,’ the man screams as he drops from the
van, tripping and slipping as he runs around the front. Blood on his clothes. Blood on his arms and hands. ‘DON’T SHOOT! MY DAUGHTER…’ he aims for the big sliding door, every motion filled with panic. Everything happening so fast. ‘SHE’S INFECTED…’

  ‘NO!’ Lilly and Kyle both shout the word as the door starts going back.

  ‘IT’S FINE,’ the man yells back. ‘MY FAMILY HAVE HER…’

  ‘Oh fuck,’ Mary gasps, seeing a look of hope etched on the man’s face that will stay with her forever. A second poised in time. Held for eternity. Then the door rolls back, and the first adult infected woman flies out. Her eyes red. Her hands clawed. Her lips pulled back and her mouth already open for the bite as she slams into the driver. Taking him down with a spray of blood arcing in the air from her teeth tearing a chunk of flesh from his neck.

  A wild scream sounds out. People shouting in alarm and panic as those running towards the road suddenly stop and try to go back the other way, blocking the path of Sam, Pea, Joan and Tyson and Patrick. An explosion of chaos and noise as more infected pour out of the van behind the first woman. A teenage girl. Red eyed and wild. More behind her. All of them infected. All of them pumped and ready to bite and take more hosts as they sight the people on the beach.

  ‘GET DOWN GET DOWN,’ Sam shouts out.

  ‘MOVE,’ Joan yelling but even she cannot get a clear shot through.

  Kyle opens up, his pistols already nearly empty from pouring so many shots at the wheels. The guards on the road still too far back and unable to shoot down for fear of hitting their own.

  ‘Fuck it,’ Tyson curses, seeing it all happen but he can’t get through and he can’t fire either. A glance to the road, to Lilly and Kyle trying to fire at the infected already running fast. ‘PATRICK,’ he yells out, pulling his rifle overhead.

  Patrick turns, seeing Tyson throw the rifle, knowing instantly what must be done and he darts forward, catching the weapon. ‘MARY,’ he yells her name.