The Suburban Dead (Book 2): Emergency

by Sorsby, T. A.

  ‘No hunters in your group?’

  ‘You should have asked sooner, captain. But no, as it happens. All their guns are for the range.’

  ‘Shame. Though they do seem to be rather competent in an actual firefight, for range shooters.’

  ‘Don’t knock it, Beauchief Park’s got some top notch facilities. It’s a fun day out. For all the family, ages fourteen and up.’

  ‘Fourteen? Gods.’ Hale sighed.

  ‘Point twenty-twos, don’t get your knickers in a twist. My grandkids love it.’

  I suppressed a laugh, but they turned to look.

  ‘Sorry,’ I chuckled, ‘reminded me of a conversation between my father and my uncle. Motorcycles are dangerous. Motorcycles are fun. Always wear protection.’ I waved them off, ‘Carry on.’

  It was about noon when we found the walking trail. The clouds were beginning to drift away, letting a little more light into the trees, and together with the hiking, it was getting pretty warm under my leathers. Despite that, it was still the onset of winter, and the breezes that drifted between the trees carried the chill, so I was walking an uncomfortable line between hot and stuffy, with frozen fingers and a slightly runny nose.

  We crested another little rise, and suddenly we were standing on dirt path, wide enough for two people to walk comfortably abreast. It stretched off into the woods on either side, winding its way out of sight in both directions.

  ‘Finally…’ Gavin groaned, somehow making relief sound like a complaint, ‘signs of civilization at last.’

  ‘We aren’t there yet.’ Captain Hale said, holding a robust tablet-like device in one hand. ‘This trail’s on the map, but we’ve got further to go until we reach our destination.’

  ‘Where is that, exactly?’ I asked him quietly, as the group got walking again, forming an elongated procession behind us.

  ‘There’s a farm on the map. Seems to be quite large, including the acreage – about two fifty to three hundred, probably run by a family and some hands. A safe place to rest, and a good chance of getting a few vehicles.’

  ‘You mean to steal their cars? Just when I was thinking better of you.’

  ‘Borrow,’ he corrected me, ‘we can’t get everyone to Sydow on foot. Not if there’s another…situation like before. No. I’m planning to borrow a couple of vehicles and take a team to the nearest town, where I expect to secure a few more. Either by the donation of the residents in exchange for a SySec marker or by commandeering abandoned ones. It’s a cynical view, but if a motorist has a car that isn’t stuck in some kind of evacuation jam, then they’re either staying put or they’re dead. In either case, they won’t need it.’

  ‘Fair point.’ I conceded.

  ‘I’m glad you approve.’ He smiled, a little smugly. ‘The mission is to get as many of these people to Sydow as possible. We might lose some on the road. I’m a realist. But I won’t abandon anyone if I don’t have to, and I won’t steal anyone’s property if I can avoid it. Squatting on the other hand, is also on the table…’ he paused, sounding a little uncertain.

  ‘We might need to beggar the farm’s hospitality for a night or two, while we source transportation. Maybe longer, unless they have a school bus and a couple of spare four by fours they’d be willing to give us.’

  ‘A bus.’ I nodded, thinking it over. ‘Probably a good bet for transport. Get a bunch of people and their luggage aboard. We’d probably need a couple though. We’re a bigger group than we started.’

  ‘That’s the thing with busses though. You wait an hour for one, then three come along at once.’

  I almost stopped on the path, Claire’s shoes scraping the back of mine, and had to take a few quick steps to catch up with Hale. He was smiling again, and this time it was definitely smug.

  ‘Was that a joke? What happened to the guy who arrested me yesterday?’

  ‘Yesterday I didn’t believe in ghouls. I didn’t think you were guilty of homicide either, but there was confusion enough for an investigation into the deaths, and how the power went out. Today, I may not have seen a ghoul, but I saw what trouble it can bring.’

  ‘That still doesn’t explain the sense of humour.’ I said, accusatory.

  ‘I always had one. Just ask my men. They’ve been ordered to laugh at all my jokes.’

  I put my head down and smiled.

  ‘Again, a fair point. I’ve only seen you when you’re barking orders or organising things. You’re good at that.’

  ‘You know when people talk about being “by the book”?’ he asked. ‘That’s the book. Organisation. Preparation. If “x” happens, then “y”. If that fails, “z”.’

  ‘Contingencies for everything then, that’s the secret to military success?’

  ‘Not just military. Always have a plan, and a backup plan for when that goes wrong, because no plan, and I mean none, will ever go exactly as you expect. Like back there on the road. The plan was to head up the emergency lane, but we had the bags ready to go in case we had to abandon the vehicles. Then the plan was to get new vehicles on the other side of the checkpoint. The ghoul appeared…’

  ‘And the plan changed to “get off the damn road”.’ I nodded. ‘What’s your plan for if this farmhouse can’t loan us any vehicles? Not even to go scouting with.’

  ‘We’re going to have to walk on. Closest place would be Overbridge. I’m confident we can find transport there, but I’d rather not have to lead the whole group in, or arrive on foot. Before the infection got thoroughly out of hand, Overbridge already had some troubles.’

  ‘The cannibal murders. I saw the news on TV…’ I nodded. ‘They were dressing the infection up as crazies and fringe religion cultists.’

  ‘Yes. My expectation is that Overbridge is a rather dangerous little village right now…’ he trailed off, as if remembering he should be scanning the forest for ghouls, not idly chatting the afternoon away.

  The woods around us periodically grew brighter and darker as the sun passed in and out of cloud cover. Every now and then it threatened to rain, but the occasional drop from the heavens never turned into a full on downpour.

  The trail turned rougher and began to climb uphill after half an hour or so, becoming more of a gully of roots and rocks. Already tiring of walking this far without stopping at a country pub, I was doubly glad the rain hadn’t materialised. As suddenly as the path had changed however, it changed again, into stone steps with a rusting iron hand-rail.

  ‘This looks like the way.’ Captain Hale said.

  He was eager to get to the top, so took off at a much brisker pace than I fancied. I found Claire catching up behind me, and we gave each other grunts of acknowledgement. The stairs went on a bit, and words were too much.

  At the top, Hale was halfway over the walking stile, the set of wooden steps placed side-on to the fence. People could climb up and over, but livestock couldn’t. I sluggishly clambered over in his wake and offered a hand to help Claire balance.

  On the other side, we were standing on a grassy verge at the side of a narrow road, across from us being another unkempt verge and a tall hedgerow. At the top of the stile, I’d glimpsed a cluster of buildings over the hedge, but with Claire following behind, I didn’t stop long to admire the view.

  Hale however, didn’t stop at all, but kept a slow, almost dawdling pace as we followed the road around to the right, hopefully heading for the farm. He had the GPS thing and the orienteering skills, so I assumed he knew which way he was going.

  His slow walk had allowed people some time to catch up after the stairs, and a look behind us, at sagging shoulders and sweating faces, told me we’d have to rest again soon even if the people at the farm wouldn’t have us. We were all laden, bags and suitcases, and we hadn’t trained for it like the soldiers had.

  The hedgerow ended, the road branching off a left turn into what looked like barns or haylofts or something; I’m not a farmer. Several vehicles were parked between the buildings, but the path itself was blocked off by a pair of s
teel gates.

  Whilst it’d have been easy enough to climb over – they were basically ladders on a hinge, again meant to stop animals, not people – Hale pressed down the road a little further. He led us down the side of an old, windowless red-brick building, where he came to a stop at a pair of tall, solid looking wooden gates.

  They were bound in ironwork that could either have been decorative, functional, or both, and spanned a gap between the long outbuilding we’d walked by, and something a little smaller, like a one-bed-one-bath groundkeeper’s lodge. A small silver security camera was mounted on the wall just above the gate to our left, and an intercom box sat a ways beneath it, in a much more accessible position.

  Hale looked around, like someone waiting for service at a restaurant.

  ‘Should I push the button?’ I asked, indicating the box.

  ‘I think we have already been seen on approach. That’s not the only camera we passed on the way here.’ He added, pointing at the one above the gate.

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘The rest were a little better hidden…’

  ‘I guess they take their security seriously out here. No police station within a few hours drive, at least.’

  ‘Hidden cameras aren’t to deter thieves. You want a nice, easily visible one for that. Spy cams…lot of good uses for them.’

  ‘I had to wear one when I did a mystery patient scheme at Mercy Hospital once.’ Claire said, looking up at the cam.

  ‘Some of them benign, like that. All you can say for sure is they’re for recording and observation without the subject’s knowledge…’ he mused. ‘So…you’ve seen us coming. Now, what do you think?’

  A moment of silence hung heavy between us, disturbed by the distant chatter of people catching up behind us.

  ‘I’m thinking,’ the intercom came through clear, transmitting a deep, rich voice, with more than just a hint of an accent. ‘That you’ve a lot of people. And a lot of guns.’

  ‘My name is Captain Greame Hale. I’m from Sydow Security. Are you the owner of this farm?’

  ‘This is my home alright, and business. Rob Grant, of Grant Farm an Leisure. What can I do for you, Captain?’

  ‘It’s a matter I’d like to discuss in person Mr Grant. Perhaps you could let us in?’

  ‘I like that.’ The voice came back, with a hint of a smile. ‘You walk by a gate you can get through, so you can knock on me front door. I respect that, Captain. I’ll open the gate, but you have to stow them guns. All of them, yeah?’

  Captain Hale seemed to think about this for a moment. The voice on the intercom picked up on it.

  ‘I’m not asking you to disarm Captain. We have guns in here, so fair’s fair. Just keep them out of any twitching hands.’

  Captain Hale turned around to address the line of people on the road, and raised his voice to carry.

  ‘If you’re carrying a weapon, holster it, or throw it over your shoulder. If it hasn’t got a strap, keep if pointed at the ground.’ He said. ‘Is that acceptable?’

  ‘Aye, think so. Come an in now.’

  The gate buzzed, as electric motors began to work, opening it a crack slowly, then faster as it went wider, revealing a courtyard beyond.

  A three storey home stood at the far side – you couldn’t just call it a house because it had too much character. Flower boxes sat under the downstairs windows, with hanging baskets by the front door and quaint exposed beams between the bricks. It was too homely to be anything but someone’s home.

  A high wall ran down the right side until it hit the groundskeeper’s lodge, which was made in the same brick and beam pattern. The wall neatly enclosed a trimmed lawn and beautiful raised flowerbeds that wouldn’t have looked out of place on any daytime gardening show.

  On the left, the building we’d walked by seemed to be part of another little courtyard of its own, and while I couldn’t see them, I was born a wealthy man’s daughter, so I’d been to places like Grant Farm before. I knew there’d be horses in those stables – I could literally smell them.

  The courtyard was revealed to us in slow motion, piece by piece as the gates opened, but it wasn’t the only thing on display. While the farmhouse was strikingly gorgeous, the selection of armed men and women standing before it were striking in their own right.

  There weren’t as many of them as there were of us, ten or so, ages ranging from a dread-mopped teenager to an elderly lady with a revolver in one hand and her long crutch bound up the other.

  ‘We’d be crowded, if you all came in me house at once.’ Mr Grant spoke again. ‘Everybody welcome to get inside the gates, but just bring you and your closest reps inside.’

  ‘Mrs Lowe, Sergeant Bailey,’ Hale called out, summoning them to his side, ‘Officer Asturias, you should come as a representative for GFPD.’

  ‘You should take Claire then, to speak for the medical personnel.’ I suggested.

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t.’ she protested.

  ‘Nonsense, you’re both coming.’ Hale nodded.

  ‘Ah, great.’ We said together.

  Twenty Four

  Grant Farm’s kitchen was expansive, and with the dining area and a distant snug, made for a very breezy and open plan ground floor, the building above us being entirely supported by the solid outer walls and central stairwell. On the end wall, a vast range cooker was flanked by stout farmhouse cabinets, painted in a modern, creamy white, matching a marble worktop that I felt sure you could see your reflection in.

  The kitchen island was approximately the size of my bedroom, and contained a host of gadgets to render easy any kind of culinary challenge and still leave space for the pull-out stools that made it not just an island, but a breakfast bar.

  They had all the mod cons. But the dining area looked a little less up to date, a darker affair compared to the kitchen, with oaken chairs and table, and an original chandelier that looked to have been made from an old iron wagon wheel. It was incongruous to the rest of the colour scheme, but it was probably as old as the farmhouse, which with its noticeably lower ceilings put it at least a century old.

  The oaken beams in the ceiling and the age of the brickwork outside would confirm it was a well matured building, but it’d been masterfully and expensively refurbished within the last few years.

  As we entered, Mr Grant was sat at the far end of the table, one hand resting beside a rather large mug that read “World’s Best Dad”, and a selection of fanned out paperwork. He stood up as we entered, smiling.

  ‘Come in, take a seat. Lydia, can you make everyone a brew?’ he called into the snug, the rightmost part of the ground floor, where a young woman with a tight braid had been rummaging for something.

  The snug was a collection of comfortable seating, leather sofas and chairs arranged around a fireplace, a truly huge TV on the wall above, the other walls being lined with bookshelves. The snug was also full of suitcases, shopping bags and cardboard boxes. It looked like people had been moving in.

  ‘Make them you-self, bossman.’ The woman sighed, making her way into the kitchen to fill the kettle. She flashed us a quick but harassed smile as she went by.

  There was definitely a familial vibe to their banter, but her accent was much stronger than his. My guess would be Mr Grant came over when he was a lot younger, but Lydia, in her late twenties maybe, had only been in Voison a few years.

  Mr Grant met Captain Hale halfway along the table, and offered his hand to shake, meeting his eyes with a smile, and a pat on the elbow. Like Hale, he wasn’t an especially tall man, but he was broad, and this being a farm, I guessed the muscle on his frame was from outdoor work.

  ‘Me niece. She an her children are visiting, until all this trouble dies down.’ Mr Grant explained. ‘A few others too, but I don’t mind the company. Come, come an sit down.’

  Captain Hale waited to sit until Mr Grant had done the same, and I found myself following suit, along with the rest of our number. The six of us almost filled the extra-long dining table, but ther
e was room for a couple more.

  We made a brief round of introductions, name and rank in the case of everyone but Claire and myself. It felt incredibly formal, until Mr Grant started to laugh.

  ‘You’re all looking so tense! Lighten up. Is just a chat, not some kind of trap. I understand your apprehension. My cameras, my friends and family, my guns. Your wary, an it look like you been a ways down a hard road. Where you come from?’

  ‘We were at County General Hospital, in Greenfield. We had to evacuate this morning. There were too many infected to contain.’ Hale added, eyes drifting down to the table for a second before recovering his usual stoic expression.

  ‘I see. My nephew, Damian, is in Greenfield. Tried to call, but no phones working. You made it here though, so maybe he will.’ He added, with a hopeful shrug. ‘So, you walk pretty fast or you drive? Get stuck in traffic?’

  ‘The latter. You’ve seen the road then?’ Hale asked.

  ‘Aye. I went down to check it out yesterday afternoon. Had to park a ways back because they’d locked up the gate I’d usually use. Walked the rest of the way at the side of the road. Got there just in time to see a man shot dead cause he wouldn’t turn around an go home.’

  Hale looked down at the table again. ‘I’ve had to make the same choice on the way here.’

  Mrs Lowe grimaced. ‘Not that turning back would have done much good for them anyway. Seems to be no getting away from the plague now, Mr Grant.’

  ‘Didn’t sit right with me, all the same.’ Mr Grant shook his head, keeping an eye on Hale, ‘But honest word, I don’t know if I’d do any different, especially if it were my people in danger. An please, call me Rob.’ He added, his accent turning “Rob” more into “Raab”.

  ‘Things are even worse now, Rob.’ Captain Hale said. ‘Nobody’s manning the checkpoint anymore, and we ran into something. Something…different. Brought a lot of infected down the road on us.’

  Rob Grant leaned in, serious, and steepled his fingers.