The Undead (Book 23): The Fort

by Haywood, R. R.

  ‘I agree with John,’ Sam says.

  ‘Exile, yes. We should do this,’ Lenski says.

  ‘All of them?’ Lilly asks.

  ‘Bloody right,’ Simar says. ‘Every last one…no excuses for what they did.’

  ‘Some are too hurt to be moved,’ Ann says.

  ‘How many?’ John asks.

  ‘Five can’t go anywhere,’ Anika says, checking a list in front of her. ‘Two of them aren’t expected to survive either…’

  ‘There is twenty two in old armoury,’ Lenski says. ‘We should make good decision, yes? Smart decision. We are like a town now…’

  ‘A society,’ Lilly says.

  ‘Yes. This. We make decision like the society now…Norman, you are lawyer. What you think?’

  ‘Well. I guess I am,’ Norman says thoughtfully. ‘If I may break this down…on the one hand you have scared refugees brought into a pressure cooker environment and immediately told by the person that greets them that the Muslims started it and they are infected and so on, then they are shown to the infirmary where more fear is given and then on to Tommy where yet again more pressure is applied. All of those things, combined with the hot weather and Pamela stealing alcohol from the stores eventually led to the incident yesterday. That does give some mitigation. There are reasons why they did what they did. However,’ he says, lifting a hand as Sam and a few others start speaking out. ‘Plenty of people did not take part who were also subject to the same thing, and those people are now moving about freely, working and joining in…so one must really examine the values and motivations of…’

  ‘Norman,’ Mary whispers across. ‘You’re smart as anything and I could listen to you all day, but they want to know if the bad people should be kicked out…’

  ‘Right,’ Norman says as a few people nod. ‘Understood. Yes they should. The fort isn’t big enough to allow them to remain and fester with grudges, and as much as I hate to say it, it will also send a very strong message, not only that we will exile people, but also that we do things fairly. We’re not executing them, we are simply saying…’

  ‘Got it,’ Mary says brightly, giving him a huge grin. ‘Norman says get rid of them.’

  ‘Yes,’ Norman says, rolling his eyes. ‘I said that.’

  ‘Hands up who thinks they should be kicked out,’ Mary says as everyone in the room lifts their hands. ‘Ach, seems to answer that one then.’

  ‘That was easier than I thought,’ Lilly says. ‘We’ll do that first…other than that. The new canteen is fantastic…’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Pea says.

  ‘Amazing,’ Ann says.

  ‘Leaks like a bloody sieve it does,’ Kyle says.

  ‘Well we kinda built it quickly,’ Simar says.

  ‘Right. With lots of holes too.’

  ‘It was raining,’ Simar replies.

  ‘Aye, inside and out…’ Kyle quips and the meeting goes on. A new day. A new dawn. A new feeling in the air.

  An hour later and the old armoury floods with light as the twenty-two people inside shield their eyes and wake with sore heads and bruised bodies to stare up at Lilly walking in with Lenski. The two fort leaders side by side.

  ‘You are being exiled,’ Lilly says bluntly, directly. Without preamble. A few gasps. A few mutterings that grow louder. ‘You need to leave…if you don’t move you will be moved…’

  They file out into the drizzle to see Joan standing with a rifle. To see Kyle with his hands resting on the butts of his pistols. To see Bashir now with a pistol on his side and an assault rifle strapped across his chest, a soldier once again standing ready and watchful. Sam and Pea. Mary nearby. All of them armed. All of them grim-faced. A sea of faces beyond them as everyone else stares over. Men, women and children, and Keith looks to the back of the fort, seeing Tommy’s tent is still standing and he frowns, thinking they would have torn it down by now. Everywhere else looks clean and orderly. The burnt shelters gone. The ruined tents too. Order has returned. Tents in neat lines. The debris and crap cleared away.

  ‘Move,’ Lilly orders, making them shuffle and stumble towards the front, passing the new canteen, all of them gawping at the size of it with the sides and roof now on. People standing outside drinking from mugs, bowls of food in their hands. The smells of cooking in the air and on they walk in silent shame.

  ‘Please…’ the woman with the broken arm calls out, the panic building inside. ‘PLEASE! You can’t kick us out…WE’LL DIE…’

  ‘I hope you do,’ a voice calls in reply, lost within the crowd.

  Keith walks with them. Staying silent. Staying watchful. Patricia is dead. Shot by Bashir. Matty is dead. Gwen is in the infirmary with broken bones. Tommy was executed by Lilly, but then Tommy was a fool that didn’t know what he was doing. Keith doesn’t cry or weep at their losses but walks on with his face impassive. His eyes taking it all in. They go through the gates to the boats and in to cross the sea.

  Each vessel with an armed person at the back and Keith stares ahead to the armed men waiting on the beach, then he lifts his gaze to take in the wall made from containers. The size of it. The placement of it. He spots the trucks waiting and figures they will make it higher too.

  Onto the shore and Peter’s men waiting silent and brooding. Rough voices telling them to move. Hands shoving them to walk. Pushing them into vans. Telling them to sit down and shut up. Keith does as he is told. Silent and watchful.

  The vans move, going along the shore road. The people inside of them crying and weeping. Regretting what they did. Trying to tell anyone that will listen and each other that they didn’t do anything. They just got drunk. It was everyone else.

  The vans stop. The doors open.

  ‘OUT,’ Peter orders. They spill out to see they are outside of the wall and that sends fear through them. This is real. This is happening. They are outside of the protection now.

  Keith remains quiet. Standing in the middle and staring at the wall, at the gap in the middle then over to where the wall goes into the sea. He spots Bashir with a rifle. Mary, Kyle, Joan. He saw yesterday that Lenski, Sam and Pea all hesitated to shoot. Bashir did not. Nor did Lilly.

  He’ll remember that.

  He looks down to three rucksacks being dumped on the ground.

  ‘Food and water, enough for a couple of days,’ Lilly says, viewing them all. ‘Some medications too…’

  ‘Please,’ the injured woman begs, falling to her knees. ‘Please don’t…’

  ‘If any of you are seen in this area you will be killed,’ Lilly says. ‘You have five minutes to be out of sight…’

  ‘DON’T!’ the woman screams out, on her feet, running back to the gap in the container wall. A hand in her hair and she’s yanked back and pushed into her group by Mary.

  Keith studies them all one last time. Each face in turn. Then he stoops to pick a rucksack up, shoulders it and pauses to look at his old neighbour Norman. Eye contact held. Emotionless and cold. Then he nods once, turns and walks away, unblinking, unflinching, unafraid.

  The rest follow after him. Grabbing the bags and rushing on while casting looks to the sides as though the infected will attack them right now.

  ‘I feel bloody horrible doing that,’ Pea says into the silence.

  ‘After what they did?’ Sam asks her.

  ‘I know but…’ Pea trails off. Shrugging.

  ‘Aye, it’s not nice,’ Kyle says heavily. ‘But necessary…come on, we going back in?’

  They file back through with Peter nodding to his men to drive the truck across the entrance, sealing the bay and the new world rolls on.

  ‘Did you see the fella that picked the bag up?’ Mary asks as they walk back down the shore road.

  ‘Keith,’ Norman says. ‘Used to be my neighbour in Surrey.’

  ‘You know him? He looked like a right weird fella. Did you see his eyes?’

  ‘Shock I should imagine,’ Norman says. ‘His wife was killed last night…he’s soft as anything.’

 
; ‘Aye, so were you a few days ago,’ Kyle says, placing a hand on Norman’s shoulder. ‘Look at you now eh? Building walls and fighting like a trooper…and snoring too mind. You snore something rotten…’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Day Twenty Five

  This was a mistake. Norman knows that now.

  ‘What have we got so far?’ Sam asks.

  ‘No aggression,’ Pea says.

  ‘No aggression,’ Sam repeats, holding a finger up.

  ‘No abuse,’ Pea adds.

  ‘When you say no abuse,’ Simar asks. ‘Do you mean like no abuse at all, like zero abuse, or like can I still call Jas the six-pack Sikh…’

  ‘Bloody idiot,’ Jaspal groans as everyone else laughs.

  ‘Friendly abuse is okay I think,’ Pea says.

  ‘Yeah, like banter,’ Sam says. ‘Add that one down, Norm. No abuse, but banter is okay…’

  ‘We are not using the word banter,’ Joan says.

  ‘Ach, it’s fine,’ Mary calls out. ‘Norman’ll put it into some legal wording, like abuse in a negative way is not allowed but friendly japery is…’

  ‘I don’t like japery either,’ Joan says. ‘Don’t write japery, Norman.’

  Norman nods. This was definitely a mistake. He was going to write the rules up in the peace and quiet of the office, but then he figured he could sit in the canteen with everyone else. So he strolled over with his notepad and pen, sat down at a table and asked, casually, as you do, if anyone had any suggestions for the new fort rules that were going to be pinned on the notice board.

  Now, over an hour later and he sips hot tea having not written a word while listening to a mass discussion going on.

  He looks about the inside of the canteen. Seeing they’ve lined the interior walls with ply, and he saw they added insulation between the layers. They’ve weatherproofed the outside, fixed the leaks and sorted through the piles of furniture taken from the houses on the bay to bring over chairs and tables. Pictures too. Paintings and wall art. Even a few drawings made by the kids who couldn’t play out in the rain today. It’s nice. He turns in his chair, smiling at the sheets of paper pinned to the walls. Each covered in bright drawings. Stick figures and big yellow suns. Some are a bit dark and black, showing where children have used art to express inner turmoil. He spots the good one and studies it closer, marvelling at the depth and scale given. A man, a woman and a young boy. All hand in hand. The detail is really rather good. Milly did it apparently. Something about a man called Gregory and his wife Cassie and their son. Milly wouldn’t say who they were. Everyone guesses it must be her family. It’s the figures in the background that really make it striking. Indistinct people but all of them are clearly infected. Red eyes glowing and they all look sad with downturned smiles.

  But still. What a difference after just another day. There’s even a door at the end of the canteen now. It doesn’t quite fit properly mind, but then Simar and Maleek said that’s down to warping, or bad wood, or rotten wood, or many other things and nothing to do with them.

  The food tables at the back. Generators chugging away. They’ve enough fuel for years. Fuel does go off but that’s a worry for another time.

  ‘Okay okay,’ Sam says, holding her hands out to bring the hubbub down. ‘No aggression, that’s obvious. I think no abuse is obvious too…I mean, if you need to explain it to someone then they’re a twat anyway…er, oh and no racial abuse, no homophobia…none of those things…’

  ‘Do we need to specify all of that?’ Pea asks. ‘No abuse means no abuse doesn’t it?’

  ‘People should work,’ Lenski says.

  ‘We’re still on the abuse thing,’ Sam says.

  ‘I just say. People should work…not make work but, Norman, you make it sound good yes. Not made to work but they should work…and no litter. I see litter everywhere in fort…’

  ‘We need some bins,’ Pardip says as Sunnie walks up behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders.

  ‘Then you need people to empty the bins,’ Sunnie says.

  ‘Colin!’ A few people call out at the same time.

  ‘My team can do that,’ he says gladly.

  ‘Stop taking more work on,’ Joanne chides him.

  ‘Are you a section head, Colin?’ Sam asks.

  ‘I am, yes!’

  ‘Pea was wondering…’ she adds.

  ‘Twat,’ Pea mutters.

  ‘Right stop,’ Mary says. ‘We’re getting way off track here. Norman needs his rules…’

  ‘I think we should ban the word banter,’ Joan says.

  ‘And stop people eating with their mouths open,’ Pea says.

  ‘Farting indoors, that should be banned,’ Sam says.

  ‘Aye, nothing worse than dirty man smells,’ Mary says.

  ‘Nothing worse than nagging women,’ John mutters to a detonation of well-humoured replies.

  Lilly listens on, smiling at the jokes while behind those blue eyes her mind thinks to Howie coming back. It’ll be either tonight or tomorrow. The old woman said tomorrow. The old woman Lilly spoke to on the shore road just as the day was drawing to a close.

  ‘Will you look at that,’ Mary says, staring up at the sixteen feet high solid wall of shipping containers. Two layers now added running from the sea and stretching off across the bay. ‘Are you pleased, Blondie?’

  ‘Very,’ Lilly says. The end of another busy day and the day is drawing to a close. The big engines on the cranes, trucks and plant machinery still going but everyone can see the light is fading, and so the vibe shifts too with everyone looking forward to stopping work.

  ‘Feels different today,’ Mary says, ‘you know what I mean?’

  ‘I think so. Less frantic.’

  ‘Aye. Not so hot either…like everyone knows what they’re doing now.’

  ‘Aye,’ Lilly says, not even realising she says it now. ‘It does feel better.’

  ‘And that,’ Mary adds, pointing at the wall. ‘Is bloody grand…’

  A couple more trips to the container yard by Peter’s men and the wall carried on being constructed. The first level finished and the second layer well underway.

  ‘Mary!’ someone shouts, making them turn to see one of the guards at the gap in the wall waving at them.

  ‘What’s up, Callum?’ Mary shouts.

  ‘Lady down the road,’ Callum calls, thumbing back over his shoulder.

  ‘A what now?’ Mary shouts.

  ‘An old lady down the road…will you come over, so I don’t have to shout.’

  ‘We’ll come over, so you don’t have to shout,’ Mary says, heading over with Lilly.

  ‘Look,’ Callum says, leading them through the gap to point down the shore road. ‘Just stood there she is…’

  ‘Aye, she is,’ Mary says. ‘Looks old too.’

  ‘I just said that,’ Callum says.

  ‘I know you just said that, I’m saying it too,’ Mary replies.

  ‘What do you think she wants?’ Callum asks.

  ‘How the feck do we know that?’ Mary asks him.

  He shrugs. A rifle in his hands. Spots on his face. ‘Do you want me to go and ask her?’

  ‘We’ll go,’ Lilly says.

  ‘Are ye sure now?’ Callum asks. ‘Do you want a man with you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you want a punch in the face?’

  ‘Ach, Mary.’

  ‘Ach your own arse, Callum.’

  ‘Just keep an eye,’ Lilly says, nodding at Callum as she walks out with Mary. ‘There’s no one else about,’ she adds, viewing from the sea across the road to the cleared land on the other side and beyond the old woman.

  ‘She wearing a nightie?’ Mary asks.

  ‘Looks like it,’ Lilly says, staring at the old woman standing entirely still in the middle of the road. A once white night gown reaching her ankles. Her arms at her sides. Her head up and white hair hanging down, giving her a dignified, almost regal appearance.

  ‘She’s moving,’ Mary says quiet
ly when the old woman starts walking towards without hint of old joints, bad hips or sore knees, as though age hasn’t touched her, and it’s that very thing that makes Lilly reach back to pull her rifle forward.

  ‘She’s infected,’ she says quickly.

  ‘How can you tell?’ Mary asks, pulling her rifle forward to make ready.

  ‘The way she’s moving,’ Lilly says, coming to a stop. The container wall cutting the noise from the bay. Near silence and with a light drizzle falling and the light fading quickly it imbues a nearly ethereal atmosphere.

  The old woman stops. Lilly and Mary stop. Both of them aiming. Both of them now seeing the red infected eyes, but the old woman stands without show of malice or raging hunger and her hands do not claw, nor does she show her teeth.

  ‘Are we shooting it?’ Mary asks.

  ‘We need to speak to Lilly.’

  ‘Holy shit it spoke,’ Mary says. ‘Did you hear that? The bloody thing spoke…’

  ‘Don’t say we need to speak to Lilly. That sounds weird, just say I need to speak to Lilly…’ the old woman says.

  ‘What the feck is she on about?’ Mary asks.

  ‘Lilly is here,’ the old woman says, the boy says in the kitchen of the bumfuck nowhere house 300 miles away in the north of the country. Cassie nods, holding him tight. ‘Is she alone?’

  ‘No,’ the old woman says, the boy says, the infection says as Mary and Lilly share a confused look. ‘She has another woman with her.’

  ‘Who the hell is she talking to?’ Mary asks. ‘Who the hell are you talking to?’ she calls out.

  ‘Can anyone else hear us?’ Cassie asks.

  ‘Can anyone else hear us?’ the infection asks, the old woman asks.

  ‘Jesus, okay, not creepy at all,’ Mary says. ‘Can I just shoot it now?’

  ‘What are they doing?’ Cassie asks.

  ‘They are standing side by side. Lilly is on the left. The other woman is on the right. They are aiming guns…’ the old woman says.

  ‘Right,’ Mary says. ‘Blondie, can I ask, is this a normal zombie interaction we’re having right now?’