I had to change the tack I was taking on my interviews. I had to start asking for more information about the community. I had to start piecing together the stories after they got inside these walls. I could paint it together easily. I could say that I needed to compare the two environments. How did the survival locations compare? How did they find life in the community? Were they hopeful that there were other places like ours—a question I definitely had a high interest in. So long as people got to talk about themselves, I didn't think they'd have any real issue answering any of my harmless-seeming questions. Ben and Connor would have been good characters to put to my pen-sword. It would be easier to baptise a cat than get Charles to answer any of my questions. Jake and Tyler had already expressed an interest in sitting down and talking to me. Their motive was highly ulterior. I had no doubt they would want to talk about what happened on the run. I wasn't sure which bits of it I was happy to discuss at this point. I preferred to keep my cards close to my chest. People hadn't noticed that yet. I was an ear to listen to.
In the world before, I had been a nuisance, a pest and a loner. Here, I was a friend and therapist combined, and people were starting to form a queue to get my attention.
* * *
There was no getting past it. Rich was a scary man. We weren't even in an intimidating position. He was sat in an armchair. Well, I say sat. It was more like he had to fold himself into it to fit. I tried not to stare. I wouldn't have been surprised if he told me that people stare at him all the time. I wondered what his back-story was. Past his missing wife. His eyes were heavy with unspoken worries. I didn't see him unburdening himself on me any time soon.
"What can I do for you, Warren?"
"It's about Charles." I had a sudden wave of inspiration. "How is he doing?"
Rich nodded in my direction slowly "He'll be okay. Surprising, really. A blast that size. No trace of Travis or Toby. Connor and Ben dead. He was concussed, plenty of bruising, plenty of superficial burning. No lasting damage. We've got enough people and supplies to look after him, thankfully. Won't have if the runs don't carry on though."
"When can we start again?"
"As soon as Gordon decides who's going to lead them. He did want to wait until Charles was better. The community can't wait that long. That little accident down the road brought more undead into this area than we had before. They're not all headed this way, but we might get more drifters. We have to be careful. We have to be smart. We didn't need to take guns outside with us. This isn't Mad Max. The next run is going to be a dry one."
"Dry?"
"No ranged weapons. None that can cause explosions, anyway. I don't know why Charles thought it was a good idea to have some posh jackass with a loaded gun wandering around with you all. Think how many abandoned houses we have in the area. The wrong spark in the wrong place and we could lose everything."
I couldn't agree with him more. The jackass part stung though. Tom had only been acting on orders. "What do you think of Charles?"
Rich's eyes grew darker. "What do you mean?"
"Well... he was the lead. We were just following his orders. Tom had only been carrying that gun because Charles told him to. They weren't even meant to be in that house."
"What do you mean?"
Wow. Rich wasn't the creative type. "Charles told us he was just doing a recon. They were meant to be doing a drive around the streets. We weren't sure what threats were around for us. No one expected them to be going into any live properties."
"Where were the rest of you?"
"Waiting at the first targets. As soon as we heard the explosion, we headed straight over in the other cars. We found Connor and Ben in the street. I found Charles in the rubble."
"What about Toby and Tom?"
"Charles ordered us out of the area before we could look for them."
Rich looked like he was chewing this over for a long minute. I had been right, bringing my thoughts to him. He had struck me as a thoughtful and genuine man. He pined over his wife, his old life. He wasn't a closed book, only opening to vent anger and spite. "You found Charles in the rubble, you say?"
"Well not exactly. He was coming in. As if he'd been in the garden."
"And Ben and Connor were in front of the house?"
I nodded. "Connor was already in the road. His body was broken. Contortionists don't get that much bend. Ben was over him. He'd had to move to him. They hadn't been together when the explosion happened."
Rich considered this as well. I could almost see the cogs whirring, watching his security-minded brain splice the pictures together like the short from a movie. "It sounds likely Connor was in the building when it went. Thrown out, upper floor if his body made it all the way into the road. Hard to say what happened to Ben. Whatever it was, it was enough to kill him the slow way. Toby and Tom though. Damn, I want to know where they've gone. You don't disappear without a trace. Tom, maybe. If he was the one that pulled the trigger, like Ben said, it might be hard to put all his pieces back together again if you catch my drift. That doesn't explain where Toby is though."
"Toby could have been standing with Tom? Caught the blast together?"
"I don't know. And infected? Something must have panicked Tom enough to pull the trigger. Did Ben mention the infected?"
"He did. But he wasn't making much sense by the time we got to him."
Rich winced. "A shame. I wish I'd been there. I...wait. I have an idea. Thanks, Warren. I can understand why you came to me with this. You don't trust Charles, do you?"
I shook my head. There was no point in beating around the bush.
"I had my doubts about him. I didn't put him on point voluntarily, I'll tell you that much. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?"
"Yes. Unfortunately. I spoke to Gordon before I came to you. He wasn't exactly receptive."
"Ouch. Worst idea you've had since you got here. Those two are big fans of each other, in the most platonic way possible. Still, I can work with that."
"Work with it? How?"
"Leave it with me. I'm going to ask to take point on the next outing. And the way I proposition Gordon, he's not going to be able to say no."
I hoped Rich would be true to his word. I'd prefer to have someone like him at my back than Charles.
* * *
I was back at home. I was clean—not so rare these days. It was quiet. Always quiet. I wasn't missing the hum of civilisation any more. I was getting more and more nervous about the silent undead. They were easy to forget about. Their louder brethren seemed rare. It seemed possible they would starve to death. If all the humans were going into hiding then their food sources were running out. They hadn't shown any signs of turning on the wildlife. A shame. It would take a motherload of pressure off the rest of us.
Word from the wall was that the pressure of silence was building. Rich's observations were right. Sightings were on the increase.
Karen was coming off wall duty soon. I was hoping she'd be able to feed me more information on what was going on before she started grilling me about the recon. As the door opened, I walked into the hall, hopeful to see someone who would put a smile on my face. I was met instead by the angry scowl of Rick. He made straight for me. Unconsciously, I moved back a couple of paces. Rick's face was thunderous. He pushed me in the chest, palms flat and arms stiff. My spine jarred against the doorframe. I slid against the wall.
"What the fuck do you think you're playing at, Warren?"
I was bemused. I had no idea what he was talking about. I told him as much.
"Oh, really? So you haven't been arguing with Gordon? Throwing around random accusations about people?"
He could only mean Charles. I wouldn't have called them random. "Arguing is a strong word. I was getting my point across. Not that it's any of your business."
"It's my business now. When I get torn a new one by the leader of the community because my supposed friend is gobbing off about people he shouldn't, I tend to start taking notice."
I di
dn't like the way he virtually spat the word friend. Nor the way he sneered at me as he delivered it.
"You have nothing to do with my opinions of people, and who I choose to share it with. You haven't been on a run. You haven't seen what I've seen since we got here, Rick. Wind your neck in. Your input is not welcome."
He placed both hands on my shoulders, effectively pinning me against the wall. He put his face close to mine. He was unshaven, his breath warm and rank, his teeth not brushed for days. He reeked of alcohol, fresh, not stale. Only the upper echelons of the community openly got their hands on booze. I wondered if Gordon had been getting him drunk, giving him Dutch courage for this out of character show of bravado. "This isn't the pier, Warren. Don't rock the boat. You'll spoil it for all of us. You want to get people killed, again?"
Pissed or not, that was out of order. I pushed him. His limbs were elasticised by the alcohol, and he stumbled back without resistance. He looked down to the floor, steadying himself. Then he looked back up at me. His eyes were accusing—they looked hurt, even betrayed. He was a fucking good actor. Then again, he had spent the entire time since the start of the outbreak pretending to get along with me. We were getting it all out in the open now. Good. I preferred having all my cards face-up on the table.
"The pier wasn't my fault. I did what I could to save people. I saved your life, you ungrateful little shit."
Rick opened his mouth to talk. The words didn't come. He did a short and feeble impression of a guppy at feeding time, before winding up the most obvious swing I've ever seen coming at me. I sidestepped his wide and childish hook without much of a problem. As he missed, he staggered forward and through the open door he'd pinned me next to. I had expected some sort of fight, but he gained momentum and lost balance the further he went. He tripped over a chair and with some choice swearwords that might have even made Carla blush, he tangled his legs and thumped hard, side-on, against the far wall. He slid down, mumbling to himself. I walked through, not too concerned for his wellbeing, not too attentive to what he was saying. He didn't look bloodied. Spittle ran along his chin as it worked up and down, words still quiet and unclear. I put a hand down to help him up. He regarded it as if proffered by an alien and slapped it away.
"Fuck off. You and your bitch sister."
I snapped. I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. His body was lucid and unyielding. He shouted protests, but was powerless to do anything about it. I pulled him back through into the hallway. The door was still open. Carla was standing there with Karen. Both were staring at us, silently. I saw tears sliding down Carla's face, and knew immediately she had seen and heard more than me dragging her boyfriend to the front door. They parted and I pushed him back out over the threshold. He fell to the floor, and this time he did hurt himself. His hands skidded along the pavement, and his body crashed to the floor. Rick rolled over, spitting blood to the concrete before sitting up on his arse. His nose was bloody. Carla came to stand alongside me.
"You spoilt little prick," Carla railed at him. "We virtually carried you here, and this is how you decide to react? Who's fucked you in the arse, to get you to change sides so soon?"
Rick reddened. "I'm not the one you need to worry about. Warren's stirring up a hornet's nest. He's going to ruin it for us, again. It could have been good on the pier, until he threw his weight around. He thinks he can do it again here."
"What a load of shit. Get away from our house, Rick. If I ever hear you call me a bitch again," Carla said, "I'll kick you in the bollocks so hard you'll be spitting sperm for weeks."
Carla pulled me into the house and slammed the door shut before I could say anything else to Rick. I followed her lead at concluding the conversation. I couldn't have ended it without using my fists, and that wouldn't have ended well for anybody.
Back in the house, Karen and Carla were hugging. I understood that I had just witnessed the end of Rick and Carla's relationship, but I had no idea how deep her feelings went for him, or indeed how long their relationship had been deteriorating. It wasn't unlikely that their decline had been paralleled by Rick's cooling towards me. Had he just used us both to survive?
Carla pulled away and looked up at me through bloodshot eyes. Tears lined her puffy cheeks. She looked helpless and forlorn. For the first time in a long time, I gave her an unhesitating and completely heartfelt hug. Rick was someone we didn't need in our lives. I was glad she had been here when Rick and I had confronted each other. We both got a clean break, and a fresh start. Rick was wrong. I wasn't trying to disrupt our life in the community. Carla knew that. Hopefully, Karen knew it, too. I looked over Carla's shoulder. Karen was looking at us both, a frown of concern creased across her normally smooth brow. I shot her a brief smile, acknowledging her, sending her a silent thank you for her friendship with Carla. I could give my sister fraternal support and do the standard thing; physically threaten any man who wronged her. But I was not a good one for emotions and Carla already knew that. If she had struck up a firm friendship with at least one other woman within the community, their presence was welcome now.
Carla pulled away from me. With us now standing in a triangle, we shared brief glances in a tense silence before bursting into an awkward laughter.
"This is where we go and find a bar, isn't it?" I offered.
Carla gave me a thumbs-up.
I remembered then that Rich had a supply of alcohol. I wondered if he would be willing to offer some up to a damsel in distress. I sounded this out to Carla, offering to go and find some for her. She waved me away.
"No, thanks Warren. I'm knackered. The last thing I want to do is get pissed. I don't miss wine any more. Imagine what the hangover would feel like after this long?"
"I could remind you if you like. Rick and I necked a full bottle of scotch at some old couple's house on the way here."
"How did you feel the morning after?"
"Like a badger broke into the house overnight and shat in my mouth."
Carla folded her arms and gave me a knowing nod. "Uh huh. Why would I want to put myself through that? Where's Isabelle?"
I hadn't seen the little girl, and said as much. Carla looked concerned. "I'll see if Rachael or Tracey have got her. It's not like her to go missing from the house."
Carla left the hallway, leaving Karen and I on our own. Karen had only seen the little girl once, and whilst she was attached to me when I was around, Isabelle did not actively seek my company. She probably felt safer in the company of other females. It was out of character, though, for her to leave the safety of the house. Carla would hopefully find her upstairs, curled up asleep in one of the rooms. I motioned for Karen to move towards the sitting room, out of the awkward confines of the hallway.
We both took up seats on the sofas. Rob was asleep in one of the armchairs, arm back and mouth open, snoring softly to himself. He looked peaceful. We both smiled at him, appreciating these little moments of almost normal calm. When we started talking again, it was in hushed and respectful tones.
"Well getting to know you is a lot more interesting than I thought that it would be." Karen grinned at me smugly. I guessed that was meant to be a compliment. Given how oddly mundane life seemed for people in the community, I suppose the small dramas I had already been in were becoming the soap operas of our lives.
"I live to please. Not as if there's anything else to do around here. They could have found somewhere with walls and a pub."
"Ah true that. I could murder a nice cool pint around now."
"Top shelf for me. I fell out with lager after a particularly brutal stag party in my youth."
"How can you go wrong with lager? Pussy."
"Ha ha. It wasn't that. It was the sheer volume. I was that gassy I thought I'd explode."
"Like something else gassy and explosive? So what exactly happened out there?"
"And here was me thinking we'd get to talk about you some more," I said.
"I've never known an action man so unwilling to talk ab
out his heroic exploits."
"Technically, you've never known an action man. I was a journalist. I'd hardly class myself as international hero-worthy."
"I don't know—you're not doing too badly."
We were flirting again. I liked the feeling. It felt normal, healthy.
Rob's snores went staccato. He juddered, and seemed to wake himself. He sat up, blinking at us a couple of times. He didn't seem shocked to see other people, but it did look like it took a few seconds for him to figure out where he was.
"Ah sorry, I must have dropped off there." He heaved himself off the chair and wandered towards the kitchen. "You seen my Trace anywhere?" We both shook our heads. He shrugged, scratched at his closely-shaven head, and left the room. Karen and I giggled. We liked Rob. Everyone liked Rob. He was the quiet, dependable sort. Everyone in this house was, excluding me, if Rick was to be believed.
On our own again, our voices returned to normal. It was odd now, how working around the lives of others was becoming second nature. In the UK that was, I can imagine encountering Rob on the Tube and spending my entire journey seething about his sleep. About how his snores were annoying me, disrupting the zen of my early morning. How he would have been taking up too much space, how he might miss his stop and cause problems, things that had nothing to do with me or my world, yet would inexplicably drive me mad. There was now almost an unspoken nature of cooperation. Common sense said it was madness to behave otherwise, but it was nice to see everyone sliding into it naturally. It was as if we had all been waiting for the collapse of civilisation, and now that it had come, we had dropped its responsibilities like a heavy coat of winter. Unburdened, we were now revelling in the natural flow of life.
"So, what the fuck happened on your run out?"
"Christ, you don't beat around the bush do you?"
"What's the point? It's the end of days. I don't want to waste the time going around the houses. Things have been sour in camp ever since."
Great Bitten (Book 2): Survival Page 14
