Climbing down from the roof of the gun shop, with the welcoming sun warming his back, Billy felt the tiredness hit him. It had been a long night, and he still couldn’t get his head right about finally running back into Gunny Trautman. But Billy knew the veteran would understand.
Seeing him again was karma, a sign that Billy’s past sins had finally been forgiven. Whatever the reason, fate or coincidence, the veteran was now at peace, and it was time for breakfast. Billy didn’t even have both feet off the ladder and onto the sidewalk before he was ambushed, but it wasn’t the infected, just some grateful residents of Silchester.
An old man slapped him on the shoulder, smiling with toothless gums. ‘How many face-suckers did you pop last night, Billy-boy?’
Billy smiled back, adjusting the sling carrying the .308 assault rifle strapped to his back. ‘About twenty, I guess.’ He knew the exact number was thirty one, but Billy didn’t like to brag.
As he walked more admirers called out to him.
‘Give ’em hell, Billy!’
‘Them vermin is toast if our Billy catches ’em!’
And on it went. Billy smiled and waved, still not at ease with his new status, and always a little embarrassed, knowing that some of those wishing him well were the same people who had probably stepped over his drunken carcass not so long ago.
Billy stopped as an elderly Silchester resident blocked his path, handing him a hand knitted jumper. ‘For the winter, Billy.’
‘Thanks, it looks warm. Did you make it?’ He could see the anguish in the woman’s face as he gripped onto the woollen garment, noting it felt like the itchiest thing ever. But Billy still smiled, grateful for the gift and the effort put into it.
‘Made it with my own hands, dear.’ Which she now placed on Billy’s arms. ‘You will be here, in the winter, I mean?’
‘I’ll be here, don’t worry about that.’
Relief instantly washed over her face. ‘God bless you, Billy May,’ she rejoiced. ‘The good Lord himself has sent you to guard our flock. God bless you, boy!’
Billy could feel himself blushing, which just got worse as more people gathered around, all trying to pat him on the shoulder or shake his hand. Finally he managed to get away, trying to navigate a route to the diner that was less busy.
Apart from the crazed blood-suckers attacking every night, Silchester still looked ordered and pristine. Most of the lawns Billy walked past had been mowed and there was hardly any trash on the streets, but then he would see one of the clean-up crews. Everyone had a job to do now, so if you couldn’t shoot then mopping up the dead infected was the next task at hand.
They were driving out the other end of Silchester, with several bodies in the back, on route to the fire pit that now never went out. Billy turned away too late, grimacing at the sight of Gunny Trautman’s corpse, half covered by a tarpaulin, his uniformed arm dangling limp. No one was sure what to do with all the cadavers left behind after Billy had finished and the sun came up, but burning them seemed the logical choice. At first they had been left out but the smell got too bad.
But now the smell of the fire burning them had become almost as gross. Despite Gunny Trautman’s hopes of a rich Silchester human harvest, in reality only about a thousand residents were left, and they were the most vulnerable. Families with young children, the disabled, and the elderly and infirm. The Mayor was dead, as was the entire Sheriff’s department, which left Fire Chief Hogan the most senior official in town.
Together with Doctor Porter, the two had organised an effective resistance with what they had. To the north was the fire pit, with football fields and scrub beyond them, which bent around to the east and west, which also meant that entire area was open and afforded no hiding place for the infected to attack from.
If they did come in numbers then the lookouts posted would have enough time to let Billy know he was needed. Until then Chief Hogan had installed various shooters around the edges of the town to keep any vampires at bay. He had enough guns, just not enough people to use them.
The one place to the east that was of real concern were the storm drains, and the Chief had installed an Afghanistan veteran on that side as an extra precaution. He was minus his legs, courtesy of a Taliban IED, but with a sniper rifle in his lap and his wheelchair to manoeuvre, the veteran was still a formidable defence, only not as good as Bill May.
No one was good as Billy, not even close. That’s why he guarded the front of town, with the forest and cornfields stretched out before it. The south of Silchester is where they came from, sneaking through the trees and uncut corn, springing forth at lightning speed as they attacked.
The south side, Billy’s side, was perfect for the infected. They could be in the trees before the sun even went down, shielded from its rays by the thick canopy, charging in as soon as the night fell. On all other sides it was too easy, even for the conscripted novices, all of them making easy kills as the less developed vampires, the ones who had not followed the same rules as Gunny Trautman, stumbled their way towards town.
The smart vampires, the ones who had followed the rules as they turned, and who were now apex predators, those ones always attacked from the trees and out of the corn, only to face an enemy defender as deadly as themselves.
God bless Billy May, ex-alcoholic, lethal marksman and saviour of the good people of Silchester.
Billy had almost reached the diner, trying his best to avoid any more fawning, when Sheriff Vince’s widow caught up with him. Billy had no idea of the state of their marriage before she lost her husband, but his widow seemed to be taking it all in her stride. Since his passing she had looked for any excuse to try and entice Billy into her home, and today she had come prepared.
A buxom woman in her late fifties, who obviously took pride in her appearance, she was clad in jeans and a denim shirt, with the top halfway unbuttoned and struggling to contain the impressive weaponry threatening to burst forth.
‘Well, hello, stranger,’ purred the widow, holding out a peach cobbler. ‘Made you your favourite.’ She leant into Billy, with her chest leading. ‘I know how much you love peaches.’
Billy took the cobbler with a smile, silently cursing his luck that he hadn’t made it to the diner without being intercepted again. ‘Thanks, that’s real nice of you, Judith.’
‘Anytime, sugar, and be sure to come over for coffee anytime when you’re free.’
Billy fumbled his words but managed to get away, finally making his destination. But as he entered the diner he was ambushed by well-wishers yet again, all wanting to be the one who bought breakfast for their hero.
Having eaten himself full, the only thing Billy wanted next was sleep. It wasn’t just the physical effort of fighting all and every night, or the mental energy to always be focused that went with it. The other taxing thing about Billy’s new job was the fact that he never could really forget he was killing people. Yes they had turned, and yes they were killing others, so yes he was killing to save, but it still made him feel awkward.
He had felt cursed since a teenager, and now Billy’s salvation was a different type of curse. He was gifted, but his gift was for taking lives. Maybe it was just God’s plan. Billy wasn’t so sure about God, but he’d be lying if there wasn’t a feeling of the divine in what he had been called to do. Whatever the reasons for his bizarre new life, Billy was committed to it, and determined he wasn’t going to let down the people now relying on him for help.
Billy made his way back up the ladder of his new home, pulling it up once he was safely on the roof of All Guns ’N’ Ammo. The actual owner had been one of the first to turn, but not before he had fortified his business. It had already been a steel box, with a brickwork covering, but the proprietor had welded steel shutters over all the windows, as well as cutting down the fire escape.
He’d also stocked it with enough food and water to see out even the lengthiest apocalypse, to compliment his hefty stock of firearms and ammunition. The only way in and out now was a steel ha
tch on the roof, which Billy had used to enter the first time he had visited and killed the infected owner. Now it was his very secure home.
But the recovering alcoholic was done churning it all over in his head. Sleep was needed because, when the night came, his gift would be called on yet again.
20
Billy woke with a jolt. He was sweating from being chased by Gunny Trautman, rotating through a succession of nightmares, all starting differently but all ending the same, with the marine veteran closing in on Billy as his legs felt like they were stuck in quicksand and he couldn’t get away, no matter how hard he tried.
He looked around the room. Billy never turned the lights off once he was entombed in the fortified gun shop, never wanting to be alone in the dark again. Laughing nervously as he realised he was still alone and safe, Billy headed into the shower as he cleaned his teeth. He didn’t know how much longer the water was going to stay on, so he savoured every second of the hot shower, foaming himself with sweet smelling soap.
For a man who had spent so long on the streets, sometimes stinking so bad he had made himself gag, Billy appreciated more than ever the things others took so easily for granted. It was his standard routine before heading up onto the roof to do what he did best. Next Billy dried himself off before wrapping the soft towel around his waist. His laundry was all taken care of, another perk of being the ace defender.
Billy looked at himself in the mirror. He was still sick-thin, with his ribs poking through his flesh, but at least he felt clean and healthy, and sober. Several of the ladies had offered to cut his hair, a couple of them had even suggested a shave, but Billy could only go so far.
He looked at his shoulder length hair and bushy beard in the mirror, happy to keep the things that stopped him from becoming complacent, a reminder of harsher times. Battling vampires was nothing compared to spending winter outside.
Looking over his folded up laundry, Billy selected a pair of jeans and a checked shirt, again savouring the smell of clean garments as he slipped them on. Next he looked over the various baked goods he had been given as an espresso brewed. Several of the strong brews were essential when pulling an all-nighter. Billy eyed the peach cobbler from the Sheriff’s widow before looking at the apple pie he had been given the day before. But he decided on a summer fruit strudel, cutting himself a generous slice.
Before Billy ate, he did the thing he had done every day since taking up residence in his new home, and before going up for his shift. There was a half drunk bottle of Jack Daniels on the shop counter, another leftover. Billy unscrewed the lid and sniffed deeply, taking in as bigger hit as he could of the liquor. In his old life, which seemed an age ago but in reality was just over a month, that smell would have fired off multiple signal flares, all commanding Billy’s mouth to warp itself around the end of that bottle and throw his head back.
But now? Nothing but revulsion and disdain, mixed in with hate. Hatred at all the wasted opportunities that bottle and all its friends had taken from Billy May. Sniffing his old friend was a test, a test to see if he wanted to go back. The world had become a very dangerous and uncertain place, but if Billy knew one thing for sure, absolutely and one hundred percent certain, it was that he was never going back. But hindsight was a beautiful thing, so Billy just screwed the lid back on as he smiled, placing the untouched booze back down.
‘Go fuck yourself.’
He ate on his feet, downing another two espressos after the first, anticipating another long night. Once the strudel had been polished off, Billy put a fresh battery in his radio and headed up the stairs. Opening up the steel hatch he climbed out onto the roof, squinting as the sun hit his eyes. It was still baking hot but not for much longer, and Billy knew the sun was already making its exit.
The roof space was just over fifty feet by fifty, with a sheer drop on either side, and the junked fire escape ladder was laying where Billy had left it, ready to lower if he made it through to the morning. The air was as fresh as it could be, with the winds mercifully heading towards the funeral pyres rather than the other way. It was a stink Billy doubted he would ever forget.
He looked down at his guns, not sure he was happy about the zing of excitement they gave him. The moralising about killing vampires that used to be people always came to Billy the next day, when he would run through the kills he had made. But as he prepped for war, Billy didn’t even try to pretend that battling the infected wasn’t the most amazing rush he had ever encountered.
Nothing could match the feeling he got from resting his cross-hairs on a target and making a kill. Nothing.
The .50 Barrett sniper rifle was there, the one Billy had used to take out Gunny Trautman, along with all the other guns from his newly acquired arsenal, all neatly laid out. Next to the Barrett was a box of the huge exploding rounds for the sniper mini-canon. Next was a longer version of the 308 Billy always carried, resting on its tripod and fitted with a scope.
He laid down the other 308 alongside as he checked on his M60 belt-fed machine gun, cranking the chamber to load and make ready. Billy also had a one-shot rocket launcher close to hand, but that was being kept in reserve for in case things got really bad.
There were other guns placed all over the roof, all for the personal use of Billy the shooting whizz, but he mainly liked to use the Barrett for far away stuff and the 308 sniper for the infected that managed to clear the trees and fields. There was a stack of magazines neatly gathered for it, all primed with twenty rounds each, and so far each and every round expended via Billy’s trigger finger had killed the vampire he had been aiming for, without exception.
He also had a snub-nose revolver stuffed into his belt at the front, and a Heckler & Koch P30 strapped to his hip. Billy had the snub-nose to use on himself should the occasion arise, loaded up with hollow point rounds for an instant exit if that was the only way out.
Having satisfied himself that his tools of the trade were all good, Billy felt more than prepared to go to work. He looked behind himself and could see the rear guard already positioning themselves amongst the rooftops of the ample deserted properties, the novice shooters having already smashed away the tiles to construct their sniper holes.
Billy looked over to his left and up at the water tower in the distance. Doctor Porter was already in position on top of the huge structure, scanning the trees with her binoculars. She had only agreed to carry a pistol as personal protection, but her professional eye had proved more than worthy in picking out targets for Billy.
He clicked the radio’s transmitter several times. Doctor Porter turned to him and waved, clicking her handset as Billy returned the hello. Next Billy checked over to his right, just in time to see a heaving Chief Hogan slump into his lawn chair at the top of the fire drill tower. Billy had supposed that the steps leading up to the top of the sixty foot steel framed tower wouldn’t be a problem for the man, seeing as he had trained his firefighters their trade on the thing, but Chief Hogan didn’t look like had had practised what he’d preached in a quite a while.
Fighting fires from behind a desk had obviously put some office weight on the Chief, which he was now burning off at a pace. But Billy liked him, and he could see the Chief was also struggling with the heavy burden of trying to keep the remaining residents of Silchester safe, as well as the physical one he was carrying around his gut.
The Chief saw Billy looking up as he mopped his brow. He smiled and waved, patting the barrel of the .50 calibre machine gun resting at his side. Billy had help rig up a pulley system to hoist the huge gun into place, as well as the crates of ammo it needed. Another gift left behind as the National Guard had abandoned them. The Chief had even been able to weld a tripod to the floor of his improvised gun tower, offering him a three sixty degree choice in his potential firing pattern with the lethal firearm now bolted to it.
All in all everyone was set to go to work.
21
All three of them knew something was wrong. No one had said a word over the radio, but
they didn’t need to. It had been a good couple of hours since night had fallen and not a single infected had come. Billy would have been dropping them in numbers by now on any other night, but tonight there was nothing, not even one of the dopey ones, staggering along as it followed its nose. Nothing.
Billy was laying down, ready as always, but it all felt bad. He looked over to his left and right and could see the Chief and Doctor Porter with their binoculars wedged against their faces as both scanned for the expected incoming, but there were still no takers. Billy stood up as he keyed his radio.
‘Chief?’
Chief Hogan replied instantly. ‘I know. Something’s not right.’
Billy looked across at Doctor Porter and was relieved to see she had anticipated his request, watching as the drone zoomed off towards the forest. ‘Hey, Doc. Is the live feed working?’
‘Should be coming through, loud and proud,’ answered Porter, cool and calm as ever.
Billy switched on his monitor that relayed the drone’s video footage, knowing the Doc and Chief were watching the same thing. It was on night vision, ready to show up any heat sources as a white glow, but nothing was about, which just increased Billy’s feeling of unease.
The wildlife avoided the infected, just like everyone else, but he would still expect a bird calling or a racoon scurrying, but nothing showed up. Just a sea of black as the drone steadily made its progress across the treetops, beaming nothing back. Billy checked to his rear, making out the roof sentries.
‘Holy shit!’
It was the Chief, too often a master of the understatement. Billy snapped his vision back to the monitor, catching his breath as he did so.
He watched as the drone hovered over the forest as it beamed back its bounty. A sea of motionless white dots filled the monitor’s screen, showing more of the same as the drone slowly flew on. A sea of white dots, a mass of infected, all watching the town of Silchester.
The Turned Page 9
