by Ricky Fleet
“Good luck.”
Parting ways, only a couple of zombies stood between them and possible salvation. Driven by fear, they barged through the weak, rotting corpses and arrived at the ladders. Connor reached out tentatively and felt the unmistakable chill of solid steel. Across the cellblock, Tad crumpled the fake ladder in his hands and started to sob. His grief was short lived and he was quickly buried under a crush of ravenous zombies.
Connor raced up the cold rungs far faster than anyone expected of a man his age and pulled his foot out of reach just in time. Arms snaked through the gaps below so he flung himself from the top, landing awkwardly and twisting his ankle.
Craig was clapping enthusiastically and stepped forward, offering a hand, “Well done, I honestly didn’t think you’d make it.”
“I need a moment,” Connor said, wincing at the sharp pain.
“I’m afraid there is no time,” Craig replied, pulling him to his good foot.
“I don’t understand.”
“My guest has fallen asleep,” he pointed to Debbie who was slumped unconscious in her chair, “Which means you didn’t entertain her.”
“I’m sorry, I tried my best,” Connor grovelled.
“Brother, were you entertained?”
Mike shook his head, emotionless eyes staring at the man.
“I think someone needs another attempt to make up for disappointing my guests,” Craig said disdainfully and led him to the guards who had joined them.
“Please, no,” Connor begged.
“The board or the gauntlet,” Craig growled, “Your choice.”
Sinking to his knees and crying, the prisoners bundled him roughly through the door.
JR stepped forward and hushed the crowd around the building, before bellowing, “Who’s ready for round two?”
Holding his arms high, he drunk in their rapturous applause.
CHAPTER 10
Kurt lay down, stretching himself out in the chaise lounge. As his head settled into the pillow he pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. His old friend migraine was rearing its head following the poignant chapel ceremony. As well as the flickering lights dancing on the edge of his vision, it felt as if someone was jamming a knife around on the inside of his skull. He watched with curious disdain as people manhandled beds and mattresses into the cavernous Barons Hall. Following the retrieval of his father’s body, a slow, creeping anger had taken over. He scowled at any attempt to engage in conversation and people walked away muttering to themselves. They had no idea what it was like out there, thinking each moment may be your last, heart beating so fast under assault from the dead that it felt as if your chest would burst. Their whining complaints at the hardship of clearing the grounds replayed in his mind, voices echoing in the bereft corridors of his psyche. How dare they? he thought. Another woman tried to smile at him and he bared his teeth like a dog, issuing a low growl. Honey looked up from the rug and, sensing the mood of her master, growled too.
“Are you ok, love?” Sarah asked, placating the frowning woman with a smile and apology on her face.
“They haven’t got a clue.”
Sarah joined the ranks of the confused and frowned too. “What do you mean?”
“These people disgust me. What do they know about loss and suffering?”
“Every one of them has lost a loved one too, remember,” Sarah explained, “Parents, children, whole families. What’s gotten into you?”
“It didn’t matter when we were a small group. Now I have to worry about all these extra people and I don’t know if I can do it. They’re like new born babes who have no idea how to survive without adult supervision.” Kurt closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. Pressing harder than was necessary, the pain provided a brief distraction from the agony in his head.
Sarah could see the discomfort pinching his features and laid down beside him. Pulling his head into her chest she started to stroke and massage his scalp. Moving her fingertips in a circular motion, Kurt sighed as the nerve endings responded. The stabbing pains receded a fraction and Denise approached.
“Migraine?” she inquired and Kurt grunted.
“He gets them when he is stressed. With all the horror we’ve been through I’m amazed he hasn’t had more. I think the adrenaline has helped keep them at bay,” Sarah replied.
“I had a daith piercing years ago, as I suffered terribly too.” Denise leaned down and showed the silver ring through the cartilage of her inner ear.
“I think the piercing parlours may be closed for business,” Kurt said quietly.
“I’m sure I can find a needle to do it.”
“Are you licensed?” Kurt chuckled. His mood was lightening with each rotation of Sarah’s fingers even though he knew as soon as it ceased the migraine would come crashing back.
“Do you have the luxury of being choosy, sweetie?”
Kurt laughed and opened one eye to look at her, “I guess not. When can you book me in?”
Denise opened an imaginary Filofax and scanned the invisible pages. “I’m busy all through this week, but I can probably see you next Thursday.”
“I’ll take that slot, thank you.”
“Until then,” Denise continued, reaching into her bag and pulling out a packet of tablets, “Here’s some codeine if that would help.”
“Thanks.” Sarah popped two into Kurt’s mouth and helped him to sit up and swallow them.
“I’d like to hear your story if you have time?” Kurt asked as the brave American lady walked away.
“I’ll get everyone settled and then I’ll come back, ok?” She left, but stopped in her tracks and turned around, “Do you think we should light the other fire?”
The great hall had two gigantic fireplaces with carved lions roaring from the marble surround. One was glowing warmly and taking the chill from the air, but with two blazing they may even get close to being comfortable.
“Yes, please. We have more than enough wood to spare and it will be nice to sleep without waking from the freezing temperatures.”
With a nod, she walked away.
“I’m sorry for being a miserable bastard.” Kurt reached out and stroked Sarah’s face.
“You’re just tired. You take the weight of the world on your shoulders and think you have to save everyone single handed. You forget we have soldiers, ex police officers, and other talent to draw from now. It’s time to share the load,” she whispered, leaning into his caress.
“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, “If any more of you get hurt I don’t know if I can take it.”
“If we get hurt then it’s fate,” Sarah replied firmly. “It’s the zombie apocalypse for God’s sake. That we have made it this far is a miracle and it’s all down to you.”
“And you,” he said with pride to his warrior wife.
“All of us,” she finished, looking around the room at the rest of their clan.
“Look at our boys,” Sarah whispered and Kurt craned his neck to see over the chair.
They were rallying the student survivors who had bequeathed them a leaderlike status. Kurt had heard them listening with awe as Sam and Braiden talked about the battles they had been through on the open road. Orders were given and followed without question and Kurt allowed himself a wry grin when he heard aspects of his own character in their instructions.
“I wish they could’ve had the rest of their childhood.”
“That’s just not possible,” Sarah replied, sadly, “But you and your father have made sure they are men and can face what this world throws at them. For that you should be proud.”
“I am. They’re good boys.” Kurt choked up as he watched them.
Showing no concern for their own comfort or exhaustion, they raced around, arranging beds and making sure the older survivors were comfortable. Blankets were issued and steaming coffee poured into mugs held by grateful hands. The frenetic activity of the younger members was putting the adults to shame which could only help improve the work ethi
c of the whole group in the long run. Once everyone was settled they spoke quietly to Denise who nodded in gratitude. She teased the slowly growing fire until the glow illuminated her whole face. The students came hurrying back, arms loaded with logs and Kurt now understood what they had discussed. Piling them high at the side of each hearth, the fuel would last them well into the next day. Honey stood up, sniffed at the new scents of the timber and then curled back in front of the fire.
“Can you think of anything else?” Sam asked Braiden as their amused parents looked on.
Braiden caught them staring and cocked his head, “What?”
“We’re so proud of you boys,” Sarah answered and they both blushed at the praise.
“Come here,” Kurt urged and they all held each other.
Silence fell on the room and when they separated, everyone was watching. Some were crying, thoughts of their lost returning as darkness and inactivity took over. Others smiled, happy at the display of humanity in a world of terrible inhumanity. Some glared, jealous of the family who still had each other when all their own loved ones were dead. Or worse.
“Do you need anything?” Braiden asked as he stood up.
“No. Thanks, sweetie,” Sarah replied.
“If you don’t mind, we have found some games to play with the others,” said Sam, looking for permission.
“You don’t have to ask, mate.” Kurt smiled, “But you may need to do it outside the hall unless you can keep the noise down. I think people just want to get some rest and you should too.”
“We will, Dad,” Sam nodded, “We’re just a little hyped at the moment.”
“Have fun.” Sarah beamed.
“It’s good to see him so confident,” Kurt added.
“I know. He would’ve been mortified to be the centre of attention before all this. How’s the head?”
“Better after your massage, love. The drugs are starting to kick in too,” Kurt replied lazily. The opiate was working its way around his system and he felt warm and fuzzy.
Denise was satisfied with her work and pulled Patricia away from her covert guard duty on Stephen. He had fallen asleep instantly and now snored softly from the corner.
“Are you feeling up to the story tonight or do you want to wait, sweetheart?” Patricia asked with concern.
“I’m fine,” Kurt replied. “Please join us.”
The roaring fires between the ferocious lions were doing a valiant job of holding the cold at bay. In a chamber the size of the Baron’s Hall, it was quite remarkable. For the first time since the outbreak, people had hope and slept a little easier despite the impending shortage of food. A spark had been ignited after the ferocious battle for the castle and it now needed careful nurturing to blossom into an inferno of rebellion against the undead.
“Honey, are you sure you don’t just want to go to sleep?” Denise repeated the question.
“Sorry, I’m floating here,” Kurt said, shaking his head in an attempt to refocus. “Those tablets are good. I can’t feel anything now.”
“In that case lay back, sweetie. We’ll tell you our tale as quickly as we can so you can pass out and get some rest.”
Denise sipped at the mug of black coffee and begun.
“It was a dreary, grey morning and we were worried it would ruin our visit.”
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“Keep your eyes open for a parking spot. How the hell do people put up with roads that are so crowded?”
“Damned if I know,” Patricia replied, scanning the side streets without luck.
They were both from rural areas in which you could drive for miles without seeing another car. Patricia had moved from Saskatchewan in Canada to be closer to her best friend Denise in Newfane, New York in the USA, after she had retired from Buffalo Police Department. The sheer number of traffic jams and delays on even short journeys was incredible.
“Oh! There!” Patricia called out and Denise jumped in fright.
“You damn near gave me a heart attack,” Denise laughed, twisting the wheel and trying not to hit another road user.
Coming to a stop in the bay she let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes. “How do people cope with this? Not only are they driving on the wrong side of the road, but the wheel is on the wrong side too.”
“Shall we take the coach to the next place?”
“Yes. My nerves can’t stand another journey with all the dumbasses on the road! And I’ve stared down the barrel of a loaded gun held by a meth head!”
“I can see why you’d rather take a chance with the addict,” Patricia remarked as people raced past in a blur of glass and metal.
“The castle doesn’t open until eleven so shall we go and get a coffee first?”
Patricia checked the pamphlet and its guide on sights to see in the town of Arundel. “We could always use the hour to check out the Priory Church of St Nicholas, that gives us five hours in the castle before we head to Arundel Cathedral and finally Tortington Manor House before it closes at eight tonight?”
“Done!” Denise declared with a smile.
Taking out their backpacks and slipping them on, they pinpointed their location in relation to the ancient building.
“If we follow the wall past the eastern gatehouse we should be there in ten minutes.”
“Lead on, sweetie,” Denise instructed her map reading friend.
Strolling down the cobbled streets was a thrilling experience, and if they ignored the cars and tarmac road it was easy to imagine being in medieval England. The buildings showed signs of their history; weather worn stone from the centuries of rain which had fallen. Tiny doorways bore testament to the differing physical traits of their ancestors; people had been a lot shorter all those years ago. Nothing similar existed in the United States and the ladies were both glad they had taken the opportunity to visit.
“Would you look at that,” Denise whispered as they passed the towering gatehouse.
The massive steel banded, wooden doors were locked tight with warning notices to keep away. Denise could imagine the thin slits running around the outer wall of each tower spewing arrows at any invading force. Chutes angled down from the upper walkway and as well as carrying rain away they would have been used to pour red hot sand and boiling water on unwary attackers.
“While we’re here, do you want to lay siege to the castle? Could be fun?” Patricia chuckled at her friend’s awe of the lethal construction.
“Hell no! I’d end up riddled with arrows looking like a pin cushion. I think I’ll just pay for a ticket and get inside the walls that way.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Patricia teased as they climbed towards the church.
“Back on the streets of Buffalo where it will stay. I’ve seen more than enough action and I want my retirement to be simple and uneventful.”
“Spoilsport.”
Turning left, they followed the wall around until finally reaching the stone Tudor arch and the church beyond. Walking under the archway, the fourteenth century building was a majestic sight to behold. Denise paused, staring in amazement at the structure and the skill that had gone into constructing it without any of the modern equipment.
“I swear, girl, at this rate if you stop and gawp at every bit of English architecture we will never catch our flight home.”
Denise burst out laughing and pushed her playfully. Many other members of the public walked past, smiling at them and their horseplay.
“People are a lot more polite here,” Patricia noted, “We’d be shouted at to grow up or ignored completely back home.”
“It seems that way, but I’m sure if we look hard enough we can find assholes just like in the States.”
“Let’s not look then,” Patricia replied, entering the gloomy church.
After walking around and paying their respects at the altar, Denise turned to Patricia, “You can’t tell me that isn’t an amazing piece of construction.”
“Ok,” she conceded, “I’ll admit I’m impressed. How on ear
th do they lift those stone roof supports?”
“God only knows. Let’s take a walk around the graveyard to burn a few minutes and I’ll Google it.”
“I didn’t know you were a ghoul,” Patricia teased.
“I just want to see if any kings or queens are buried there,” Denise giggled.
“Why? So you can dig them up and steal their jewels?”
“I forgot my shovel, but we can always come back after dark.”
“You’re an awful person.” Patricia smiled, shaking her head.
Shielded by the house of worship, the day grew quiet as the sounds of people and traffic died away. Dark clouds were gathering overhead and promised rain, but that was only to be expected in England. As the old saying went, the only things guaranteed in life were death and taxes. And rain if you were unfortunate enough to live in the United Kingdom.
“At least we’ll be inside,” Patricia noted, staring up at the same turbulent skies.
“We can always get some umbrellas from the shop we passed.”
Patricia ignored the comment and looked around. “Can you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Denise frowned.
“It sounds like digging. It reminds me of the noise my dogs make when they are burrowing in the yard.”
Denise looked around the serene cemetery, but no one was in the process of excavating a grave. The freshest, weeks old mounds were about fifteen yards away… and moving. A hand punched through and moved around like a grey fleshed periscope.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Denise whispered, unconsciously tugging on her friend’s sleeve.
“We’re being set up for one of those shows,” Patricia snorted.
“You think so?” Denise asked, looking around for hidden cameras.
“Of course, I see them on social media all the time. Let’s see how the bastards like a face full of pepper spray.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small black cylinder.
“Where did you get that?” Denise gasped, following her determined friend to the grave.
“I bought it from a shop a couple of days ago.”
