Rubbing my sore elbow, I took one last look at the ghoul lying dead on the floor before I followed the big guy and Batfish through the living room. I’d seen some ugly dead bastards in my time since the outbreak but that particular fucker was worthy of a gold medal for hideousness.
We moved swiftly through the small kitchen at the back of the property, with our feet crunching on broken glass. I heard the howls, snorts and moans of the undead behind us, estimating they’d probably reached the front door. We’d have been long gone if it wasn’t for my lack of concentration in the living room.
The small backyard was overgrown with weeds and brambles but a beaten pathway through the center indicated a regular route through the undergrowth. We followed the guy across the yard and out through an open gateway. The guy closed the wooden gate behind us and gestured with a sideways nod of his head to a concrete walkway ahead of us.
We ran up the walkway in silence and once we’d reached the summit, I saw a huge tower block building looming into the skyline. An expanse of overgrown grass, poking through the remainder of the snow sat between us and the tower block. The guy glanced left and right, checking the vicinity was clear of undead, before proceeding across the grassy area.
Batfish and I trotted along, slightly behind the guy as we headed towards the tower block. I felt the rising sense of anxiety as we neared the tall concrete structure. The building looked dark and unwelcoming, with broken windows spreading across the lower levels. It looked as though the place had suffered a large fire at some point, as the window frames on the second floor were blackened and scorched.
The guy led us to a steel door with flaking gray paint, positioned at the side of the building. He rapped twice to the side of a small, sliding partition behind jagged bars, positioned at the top and center of the door. The partition immediately slid open and a pair of dark, beady eyes peered out.
“You got them?” a voice behind the door queried.
“I got them and I also found those two stragglers the others were talking about,” our new found friend answered, briefly glancing at Batfish and I.
Several bolts clunked on the other side of the door before it swung open. A short, portly man with curly graying hair stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a set of ill fitting, green combat fatigues, which looked totally out of place on the guy. He would’ve been more suited to a pair of jog pants and a sleeveless t-shirt with a can of beer in his hand.
The big guy ushered us inside and I reluctantly stepped through the doorway. The portly guy slammed the door shut and replaced the heavy duty steel bolts, once we were all inside.
We stood in a wide lobby type room with faded white walls also coated in graffiti of varying colors. A sturdy looking, concrete staircase stood towards the rear of the lobby and closed chrome doors of two elevators sat to the right. A low standing coffee table with several dog eared magazines and books spread across the surface and a reclining armchair, with torn leather upholstery sat at an angle beside the exit door. I noticed a metallic gray locker standing opposite the chair, to the left of the doorway.
The big guy reached into the top pocket of his jacket and tossed the other man a small cardboard box. Portly caught the box and smiled.
“Insulin for my diabetes,” he explained to us, tapping the box with his forefinger. “It’s hard to find any nowadays. My supplies are running dangerously low.” He spoke with the same Northern Irish lilt as the first guy. “Some good work there, Tom.”
The big guy pulled off his ski mask and tucked it into the side of his belt.
“I’m Thomas McElroy, by the way,” he said, proffering his hand.
Batfish and I both returned the shake. The guy shook hands with an extremely firm grip that caused the bones in my hand to crack.
“And this is Seamus Heath,” he said, gesturing to the portly, diabetic man.
We also shook hands and introduced ourselves. Batfish pulled Spot from her harness and set him down on the floor. Seamus crouched and petted the dog for a few seconds, with a wide grin on his face.
McElroy clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry I had to get a wee bit harsh with you out there but I didn’t want to see you get chomped.” He smiled as he spoke and I felt slightly more at ease for the first time since we’d met the guy.
“You had some trouble?” Seamus asked, with raised eyebrows.
“Ah, only had to lamp some ugly bastard back on Stratheden Street.” McElroy tapped his rifle. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” He removed the AK47’s magazine and made the weapon safe, before placing it into the metallic gray locker beside the door.
“It’s tough out there, so it is,” Seamus said, shaking his head. “So you didn’t run into any of our Russian friends?”
McElroy shook his head. “Nah, I reckon they’ve nucked all they wanted from the city. They’ll be on their way soon enough.”
My head spun slightly. I didn’t know what angle these guys were coming from. They seemed friendly enough but I wanted to know why McElroy had led us to the tower block.
“So, do you guys live here?” I asked.
“Kind of, if you call it living,” McElroy sighed. “I’d call it more of an existence.”
Seamus Heath flicked his eyes and nodded in agreement. He visibly sagged and exchanged ominous expressions with McElroy.
Both men’s depressing demeanor didn’t exactly instill me with much hope of finding Smith and the others or for the future.
Chapter Fifty-Five
“Hold on, you said something about the others before we came in here,” Batfish said, breaking the gloomy silence. “What others were you talking about?”
McElroy and Seamus exchanged incredulous glances.
“Yer pals,” McElroy said. “The big man, Smith and the rest of them. I thought you’d have twigged that by now. Who else did you think I meant? There isn’t anybody left around here apart from us lot, dead people and those bloody Russians. They’re all upstairs waiting for you.”
“They’re here?” I asked, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.
“Aye, they got here about half an hour ago and Smith said he had a couple of pals that might be tagging along behind,” McElroy explained. “You were all dead lucky. I was out hunting for yer man’s insulin when I saw Smith and the rest of them. They were hurtling down the street like a bunch of ejits and heading straight into zombie central when I stopped them and brought them back here. It will mean more mouths to feed but strength in numbers and all that.”
McElroy gestured with his head towards the staircase. “Come on, I’ll show you up there. The lifts or elevators as you guys call them aren’t working, I’m afraid so we have to use the stairs. Most people live on the top two floors. It’s a bit of a long old haul, so it is.”
“I’ll be up when my shift finishes,” Seamus called after us, as we began ascending the staircase.
“We have a guy stationed at the door all the time, twenty-four seven,” McElroy explained. “That’s the only entranceway into the block. The door came from the Crumlin Road Gaol, just down the road. No way would any dead people get through that. We sealed up all the other doors and boarded all the windows on the first floor some time ago. We check them regularly every hour, so it’s kind of safe in this whole building but we get the odd dead person turn up outside from time to time. I don’t know, maybe it’s from a distant memory somewhere in their brain that occasionally swims to the surface.”
“Are Smith and the others all okay?” Batfish asked, puffing slightly with the exertion of climbing the stairs.
“Yeah, they’re all good. None infected. Smith wanted to come back out himself and get yer but I said I’d be quicker on my own. I know the terrain and I know how to get back here from every direction.” He glanced back at Batfish and I. “It wasn’t so hard to find the pair of you. I knew you’d take the route you did.”
“So you were waiting for us in those houses?” Batfish asked.
McElroy laughed slightly. “I’m not in the hab
it of skulking around derelict houses on the off chance I might meet a few Americans, who’ve just escaped a shit load of Russian militia.”
“Yeah, fair point,” I said, smirking. I felt a whole lot better now I knew we’d be reunited with Smith and the others.
I didn’t know how long we were climbing stairs for, but it seemed a long while. Eventually, we reached the top two floors and I saw a combination of gray clad refugees mingling and talking with some thin and grubby looking other people, which I assumed were the inhabitants of the tower block. Batfish and I received some nods of acknowledgment, backslaps and welcome handshakes from both refugees and the locals.
McElroy led us through the central hallway, with rows of small apartments on each side. A few children barged by us, looked down at Spot and ran laughing into one of the rooms. Batfish watched them disappear and smiled.
“Good to see some kids alive and well,” she said.
“They’ll probably grow up never knowing what the world was like before all this,” I mused.
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, once the zombies have all decayed and gone away forever,” Batfish said. “They’ll be able to live in peace and not have to fear for their lives on a daily basis.”
“I look forward to those days,” I sighed.
McElroy led us to an apartment with a dark blue door, which stood wide open.
“Smith was in here when I left him,” he said, gesturing us inside the apartment. “He was enjoying a drop of the old fire water.”
Smith indeed stood inside the apartment, still dressed in his greenish brown Russian Army Officers uniform and deep in conversation with a small, gray haired man. They both held a glass containing light brown liquid, I guessed it was whiskey. Several other people occupied the room in the midst of a hubbub of chat. Wingate stood near the doorway, talking to three of the tower block’s inhabitants. She didn’t notice us as we entered the room and I thought I’d leave her to chat. Chandra was also in the apartment, in conversation with an Asian looking man and woman.
The apartment itself was sparsely furnished with a few plastic chairs standing against the far wall in front of a large window. The walls were covered in strange wallpaper, which was a kind of beige color, with what looked like brown leaves spreading across each section.
Smith caught sight of us and greeted both Batfish and I with a wink and a gentle face slap. He shook hands with McElroy and thanked him for finding us.
“I thought for one moment, you’d forgotten about us,” I jokingly berated.
“Hey, you got to hand it to this guy,” Smith said, pointing to McElroy. “He’s a regular pathfinder out there. If it wasn’t for him, we’d all be in deep shit.”
“I nearly shot this guy,” McElroy said, pointing to Smith and laughing. “All dressed up in his Russian Army uniform. But then I heard him speak and I said to myself – that fellow is about as Russian as I am.” Both McElroy and Smith broke out into raucous laughter.
A china cup was thrust into my hand and the little gray haired man poured me a generous measure of Bushmills whiskey. I took a sip and savored the warming burn trickling down my throat and finally hitting the pit of my stomach.
I had to salute these people in the tower block. They obviously didn’t have much but there we were, welcomed into their home, given shelter and a much needed drink. I knew the Scots and the Irish shared a Celtic affinity but they’d also made us few Americans feel welcome. McElroy had gone out on his own to bring Batfish and I back from the zombie infested waste land when he didn’t have to. I felt slightly ashamed at my earlier apprehension.
McElroy introduced me to several people and I happily chatted away, telling them all about our travels. My china cup was seemingly topped up every few minutes by various people carrying different types of bottles. I didn’t know what the hell I was drinking but I soon felt light headed and for the life of me couldn’t remember anybody’s names I’d been introduced to. Things almost felt normal and I briefly forgot about the undead world outside. I was simply enjoying the moment.
Darkness seemed to descend rapidly and the tower block people performed a well oiled drill. They pulled thick, heavy curtains across the windows and lit candles and old fashioned kerosene lamps. A red haired woman explained to me that the curtains would block out the light so the dead people couldn’t see the glow of the candles from outside. The occupants of the tower block seemed to have adapted to their environment perfectly. They were warm and welcoming and at that moment, I felt like I didn’t ever want to leave the place.
Feeling drunk and sleepy, somebody showed me into a bedroom in one of the apartments. I sunk beneath a warm duvet and immediately fell asleep.
Chapter Fifty-Six
I wondered where the hell I was for my first few waking seconds. Then I remembered the tower block and the effect of copious amounts of booze hit me in the head like a hammer. I groaned and lay my head back down on the soft pillow.
Somebody also groaned beside me and I thought for one horrible moment I was lying next to a zombie. I sat up, bolt upright, ignoring the banging sensation in my head. I took a look beside me and could see the top of somebody’s head, the rest of them still tucked beneath the duvet. A mop of black hair covered the person’s face.
I noticed my pile of gray, refugee clothing in a heap on the floor and suddenly became aware I was naked. I lifted the duvet slightly and took a look at the body beside me. It was definitely a female and she was also naked. I recognized the multitude of tattoos spread over her torso, shoulders and back.
“Oh, my god,” I muttered. “I’m naked in bed with Batfish.”
She rolled over onto her back and her eyelids fluttered. When she caught sight of me and the situation sunk in, her eyes widened and she gasped, holding her hand over her mouth.
“Brett…what are you...why are we…oh, my god,” she stuttered.
Batfish sat up, ensuring the duvet covered her body.
“Did we…? You know?” she whispered.
I rubbed my hand across my face, trying to quell the raging hangover and the feeling of guilt.
“I don’t know,” I groaned. “I was so damn drunk last night. I shouldn’t have let those guys keep filling up that stupid cup.”
“I was really drunk too. We better not tell anybody about this or we’ll never hear the end of it,” Batfish sighed.
“Absolutely,” I agreed, hauling myself out of bed.
I hurriedly put my clothes on, feeling embarrassed and self-conscious as I dressed. I wanted to leave the room as quickly as possible. I figured things didn’t go well when friends of the opposite sex end up sleeping together. I was simply going to try and forget the incident ever happened and hoped Batfish would do the same.
“Where’s the dog?” I asked, glancing around the dimly lit room. I squinted into a small shaft of sunlight that peeped through a crack in the curtains.
“Somebody took him from me,” Batfish said. “It’s okay, I think it was Wingate. I can’t really remember. Oh, god, I feel so bad.” She held her hand to her forehead.
“I need some water,” I said. “My mouth feels like a zombie took a dump in it right now.”
“Gross,” Batfish groaned.
“I’ll see you in a while,” I muttered and left the bedroom.
I really could have done with a shower to help wash my hangover away but I was sure somebody told me the tower block had no running water, only bottled or rain water they collected in containers on the roof. The toilets consisted of plastic buckets with the contents emptied out of the windows. Although the tower block was a zombie safe zone, the living conditions were bog basic.
The apartment living room was empty of people and I couldn’t remember where I was, in relation to where I’d last seen Smith and the others. A set of chunky, vinyl covered chairs and matching settee stood in the room. A few old family photos hung either side of some squiggly oil paintings on the walls. I saw a glass bottle by one of the chairs and picked it up. There was a
small amount of whiskey in the bottom of the bottle and I put it back down again. Even the thought of more booze made me want to gag.
I stumbled out of the apartment into the long corridor. A few people mingled around, wandering between apartments. Three young kids played in the corridor, giggling and tossing some soft toy to each other. I slowly walked down the corridor to where the people congregated. Nodding and muttering a few hellos to refugees and tower block dwellers alike, I entered the apartment with the blue door, where we’d gathered together the previous evening. That particular apartment seemed to be the general meeting place, for some reason or another.
A half full bottle of water stood on a small table a few feet inside the doorway. I picked up the bottle and smelled the contents before taking a long drink. The water was tepid but eased my dry throat.
Smith was sitting cross-legged in the center of the floor, deep in conversation with the small gray haired man, McElroy and a few of the refugees. Wingate and Chandra also sat in the circle of people, with Spot lying on the carpet between them.
“Hey, Wilde Man,” Smith muttered. “Come sit down, we’ve got things to talk over.”
I didn’t really feel in the mood for talking but the nature of the conversation seemed serious so I had little choice but to slump down on the carpet.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Smith glanced around the circle of people before he spoke. “We’ve been having a big assed debate this morning while you’ve been copping your beauty sleep, kid.” He nodded to the little gray haired guy, sitting to his right. “You remember Sammy from last night don’t you?”
“Of course,” I lied. I remembered the guy but not his name. “How’s it going Sammy?”
The man smiled and his blue eyes creased at the sides. He looked as though he was somewhere in his fifties or maybe older. The months of hardship had obviously taken their toll on the guy. Behind his smile, I picked up on a hint of distress.
The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run Page 25
