Mindless Trilogy (Book 3): Brutal Truths

by Oldham, S. P.

  “I thought you said they couldn’t get in!” She hissed.

  Over in the corner, Naomi gave a choked sob. Lavender shot her a look of irritation, was about to tell her to get a grip, when she remembered what she was like herself, once. How she used to be the one to run and hide, to sob in dark corners and wait for danger to pass. She felt a rush of pity for the girl; she remembered that terror well.

  Not that she was any less terrified now; she simply hid it better.

  “Do we have any weapons?” Lavender asked, hoping Carson would be able to wield one alongside her.

  “Some,” Joel replied, “but we won’t need them. They’ve never made it this far before. They’d never work out how to climb up here,”

  “Right, just like they’d never work out how to get into the yard in the first place,” Lavender said, “I thought you said you’d seen Thinkers?” She added accusingly, “How about you just share those weapons out for now, and we’ll discuss the finer points of the zombie presence later?”

  “Can’t we just shut the door?” Naomi approached like a ghost, pale and wan in the gloom. She made them all jump at her sudden appearance, the boy Evan muttering “Jesus Christ!” under his breath.

  “It doesn’t shut all the way; the hinge is buckled. Must have been clipped when the containers fell. If I try to close it, it makes a hell of a screech. Last thing I want to do is give us away,” Joel’s reply was curt, as if irritated that the girl had spoken up.

  Naomi nodded, her gaze rooted to the floor. She moved in closer to Yasmin, who stood and slipped an arm around her shoulder in a seemingly subconscious gesture of comfort.

  The groaning outside intensified. Lavender hoped and prayed that wasn’t because the undead sensed they were closing in on fresh meat. She was at once horribly aware of the combined aromas of the fire and the cooked crab. The zombies were so close now that she could hear the slow drag of their feet on the ground, a sound Lavender thought might be even more chilling than the guttural, hollow noises escaping their rotting throats.

  “Weapons?” she hissed through clenched teeth to Joel, “Or do I have to search this tin box for them myself?”

  Joel hesitated, even now. Tapping his fingers against the side of the biscuit tin in a portrayal of physical uncertainty. Lavender was about to give up on him and ask the others where they were – or look for them herself – when he seemed to relent.

  “Here,” he said, getting up to disappear into the gloom. She heard him moving things around at the rear of the container, “come and get it,”

  Something clanged outside, the reverberation reaching up to them. Lavender’s heart missed a beat. She hastened to grab a weapon, Joel placing a long-handled hatchet into her outstretched hands. Behind her, the others took possession of a variety of tools, obviously home-made and vicious looking. Even Naomi, feeble and anxious as she seemed, held a cricket bat in her fragile looking hands. Joel was cradling the crowbar again, a length of heavy looking chain dangling around his neck like a weighty scarf. Carson sported a lump-hammer. She marvelled at how much more relaxed he looked with it in his hands.

  They all crept towards the open doorway, no one talking now, listening for any indication of danger coming a little too close.

  “We need to see what’s going on,” Lavender said. Nobody moved in response, “I’ll go look, shall I?” Her voice loaded with sarcasm.

  “Stay there,” she looked up into Carson’s eyes, the familiar knot of worry forming in her belly. He was her only concern, when it came down to it. As long as she and Carson got out of this alive, everything else was by the by.

  He nodded down at her, his face a mask of confusion and guilt. She reached up to stroke his cheek, then had to turn her back on him or she would stay rooted to the spot, grieving for the man she had known. The old Carson would never have let her go out there alone.

  Evening was approaching. At first, the fresh air and brisk breeze was refreshing after the stale air in the container, but it rapidly became cold. Lavender regretted shrugging off the old blanket, but it would have hampered her movements to keep it on. She lay flat on her belly, the ice-cold metal digging into her skin unpleasantly. Placing the hatchet quietly alongside her, she eased forward to look over the edge of the container.

  What she saw did not inspire her. There were three undead, all in varying stages of decay, though thankfully there did not appear to be a Thinker amongst them. She saw immediately what the cause of the clanking sound was. A zombie had come up against the lower edge of the angled container. Evidently lacking the brains, literally, to work out how to go around it, it simply walked on the spot, continuously banging against the hard metal. Much of its upper head was now bare bone, and it banged repeatedly against the immovable object. In other circumstances it might have been funny; to Lavender, it was simply grotesque.

  A sudden vivid flashback. In the old days, when the world was alive and healthy. Her boyfriend, sitting in front of a games console, some fantasy figure in action on the screen. At least, it should have been. But he was drunk, her boyfriend, and the figure that was meant to be fighting off all-comers and saving the world was simply running on the spot, trying to break through a virtual wall that the inebriated man was unable to discern. She had laughed, then.

  She was not laughing now.

  Coming up behind it were two more undead. One had once been a woman, rotting black skin hanging in grim tendrils from its limbs as it shambled along. Almost level with it was the zombie figure of a man. Only fractionally taller than the zombie-woman, it was missing a huge chunk from its left shoulder, leaving that arm dangling uselessly at its side. She was just in time to catch a fourth figure disappear into the archway the fallen container made.

  She cursed. She had no idea how whole that fourth zombie was, if it was a Thinker or what its intentions, if it had any, were. She stayed flat, tucking the hatchet under her belly rather than risk knocking it off the edge, as she angled herself around to try and leaned over the join where the two containers met, her feet dangling precariously over the edge behind her. Instinctively she tucked them up, bending her knees, hoping the movement had not acted like a flag to the undead that were now behind her.

  The fourth zombie was just emerging from the archway. Another woman it seemed, wearing the remains of what had once probably been a respectable business outfit. From what she could see from behind, this zombie seemed reasonably intact. A fairly fresh victim then, meaning the undead population around here was still alive and well, pardon the pun. She was certainly moving a little faster than her companions.

  She drew level with the crude steps that led up to their hiding place. Lavender held her breath, waiting to see what the creature would do. To her relief, it just kept stumbling forward. The others emerged from under the archway too, stupidly following in her wake.

  Only the zombie stuck against the container side remained. The other three followed the line of stacked containers like sheep in a pen. The thought that this probably meant they would come back this way sooner or later occurred to Lavender. First things first; that idiot zombie that kept clanging against the container had to go.

  She assessed the situation. If she went inside and asked who would help her, sure as anything Carson would step up. She didn’t want to risk that. Fighting one handed whilst gripping the rope, leaning at angle, was not ideal for anyone, let alone Carson, who was likely to forget to hold the rope whilst fending off zombies.

  Then she saw there was no need even for that. No need at all to risk being at ground level to kill the thing.

  She palmed the hatchet, feeling its weight. Neither too light nor too heavy. If her aim was good, she could throw it with force, confident it would hit its mark.

  Decided, she stood as close to the edge of the container as she dared. She felt a thrill of anticipation at an easy kill. It made a nice change, she reckoned. She positioned the hatchet so the blade faced outward, her hand gripping the handle at its lowest poin
t. She had to get this right, or they might all face the consequences.

  “Well?” Joel appeared behind her, impatient for her report.

  “Give me a minute!” Lavender hissed, resenting the distraction. She focused again, waiting for the right moment.

  The zombie leaned back, tilting its head ready for another pointless onslaught against the metal wall. Lavender sucked in a lungful of cold air and threw.

  The hatchet spun end over end, pirouetting through the dim evening light. She held her breath, afraid she had missed her mark. The skull-zombie had begun to lean in again, the hatchet seemed too far away…

  She watched as, in slow motion, the hatchet made a final, graceful end-over-end spin before burying itself deep in the exposed skull of the zombie. There was a sickening crack of bone that made Lavender flinch. The zombie dropped in an instant, the wicked little tool putting a stop to its stupidity once and for all. It hit the ground with a smack, fragments of skull spattering the ground like hail of a different kind.

  One zombie down, three to go.

  Team Work

  Joel gave her a hard look when she turned. Her fleeting moment of triumph evaporated when she saw the look on his face.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “Well great shot and everything, but that hatchet is a useful tool, which means someone has to go and retrieve it,”

  “Which means that someone is me, since I threw it,” Lavender snapped, her dislike for the man intensifying, “I always clean up my own messes Joel, I don’t expect anyone else to do it for me,”

  “Good,” he said, “glad to hear it.” He crossed his arms, expecting Lavender to climb down and get it there and then,

  “However,” Lavender added, “there are more zombies down there. I’m not one to shy away from a fight, but isn’t it unfair of you to expect me to take them on alone, especially when you are all tooled up?”

  “No one asked you to do that,”

  “But it’s what we are going to do, right? We’re not just going to let the undead wander round the yard at random, are we? For one thing, we need to find out how they got in here, so we can stop it happening again. So, are you ready to use that thing?” She nodded at the crowbar Joel still clutched.

  He hesitated a fraction too long for her tastes. She decided immediately that she would take Carson with her. He might be confused at times but fighting undead came to him like second nature. Besides, she trusted him far more than she trusted Joel.

  “I’ll tell the others to get moving,” she said, making to brush past him. He caught her upper arm as she passed, stopping her in her tracks.

  “You tell no one anything. You’re a guest remember; a visitor. I decide who goes and who stays.” He squeezed her arm harder than needed. Lavender ground her teeth, determined not to show him he was hurting her.

  “After you,” she said, a tone of mockery in her voice as she stepped back to give him precedence.

  He let go, a sinister half-smile playing about his face. Just as he had for the fishing expedition, Joel told Evan, Yasmin and Naomi to stay behind. He tried to tell Carson to stay too, but Lavender interjected.

  “He’s coming with me,” she said, not allowing him to put his obvious objection into words, “He’s coming with me and that’s final,” Her tone made it clear there was no room for discussion. To make her point still further, she took Carson by the hand and led him outside. To her relief, he followed willingly. She saw he still held the lump hammer; good.

  They reached the slope of the container, the first obstacle in their way. Hoping to lead by example, Lavender gripped the rope and began to ease herself down. The hail had collected in small patches, making the descent slipperier than before, but she did it without incident. Carson followed suit, though rather than tuck the lump hammer into the waistband of his jeans as she had meant to indicate to him, he held it in the palm of his right hand, moving himself down the slope hand-over-hand, making it look absurdly easy.

  She had waited for him at the bottom before climbing down the rough set of steps. As soon as he reached her she set off, Carson following readily behind. The others were making their way down too, Joel last in line, Lavender noted.

  She left them to it, ducking under the container to the fallen zombie corpse. There was very little chance it was still a threat, but she gave it a sharp kick anyway, to be sure. The creature remained unmoving, as dead as the grave. Satisfied, Lavender stepped carefully to it, ignoring the scattered remnants of greying brain and yellow bone, and heaved the hatchet free.

  Under the shelter of the container, Carson watched her. He gave a grim smile and she returned it willingly. The others appeared at his shoulder and Carson turned, the lump hammer at the ready. For an alarming moment she had visions of him hitting one of the boys with it, mistaking them for zombies.

  “Ok, that’s my hatchet back,” Joel said, seeing Lavender had plucked it from the smashed skull. He made no effort to take it from her, allowing her to keep it but making a point of emphasising the word ‘my.’

  “Let’s go find those others,” he added. He turned his back, striding out, the boys following obediently behind him. Lavender felt an irrational flush of irritation. There was the man taking the lead, being all fearless leader, when she had to talk him into doing it only minutes ago.

  She added this latest grievance to the growing list of reasons not to like Joel as she fell in behind him, Carson alongside her. She kept expecting Joel to detail a plan of action, but he was tight-lipped, setting out at a fair pace. At last, she had to speak up.

  “Okay stop,” she said, coming to a standstill, “We need to decide what we’re going to do. In a place like this it’s suicide to just march about at random in the hopes of bumping in to zombies. Let’s just think about this,”

  “I thought you were more about action than thought,” Joel said snidely, stopping nonetheless.

  “Some of us can do both,” she quipped.

  “She’s right though,” Drums said tentatively, “It’s crazy to run the risk of just bumping into them.” His voice trailed off to nothing, Joel glaring at him.

  “Then what do you suggest?” Joel’s voice was hard.

  Exasperated, Lavender said, “Anyone would think you’d never taken zombies on before. Well since no one else has anything useful to say, I suggest this; we split up. Carson and me one way, Joel and Corcoran the other. Drums, you climb up to the top of one of these stacks if you can, shout down if you see anything,” she deliberately chose to keep Drums out of Joel’s way after that last exchange, “Anyone got any objections?” she asked pointedly, looking right at Joel. He raised his hands as if in surrender, but the look on his face was far from submissive.

  Drums wasted no time in beginning his climb. Lavender didn’t know if the boy was in a hurry to get away from Joel or the zombies, but the end result was the same. He would have a good vantage point over the yard, ready to shout a warning if need be.

  “Come on,” Lavender said, tugging Carson’s elbow.

  They walked a few minutes in silence, Joel and Corcoran lost to sight as they rounded a stack of containers, bringing them to the end of one row. Lavender put a hand to Carson’s chest, stopping him wordlessly as she strained to listen.

  The constant thrum of the ocean coupled with the creaks and bangs of the yard in the growing wind, plus the shrieks of gulls overhead, made listening a challenge. Lavender had learned some time ago that there is an element to listening that has nothing to do with sound; a deep-rooted response to a change in sound or atmosphere, perhaps nothing more than instinct, that tells you when a noise is out of place even if you’ve not consciously heard it. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She looked at Carson to see if he had felt it too. His expression told her he had. A man of few words these days, his features were dark, menacing even.

  Lavender raised her fingers to her lips, urging him, needlessly, to silence. She raised the hatchet to her chest
, its cutting edge pointed outward, took a deep breath, and craned her neck around the corner of the stack.

  Two zombies approached from a long way down the row, moving in their shambling, idiotic way. Lavender felt the familiar race of her pulse as she retreated from view, a dry sweat forming on her palms.

  “Two of them,” she told Carson, wondering where the third was.

  He nodded and made to step out, ready to take them on. Lavender hissed a curse and pulled him back, “No! Not yet! We wait, okay? We let them get closer, we find a way to get behind them, and we take them out like that, okay?”

  Carson nodded his agreement, but Lavender was already doubting her own words. To get behind the approaching zombies meant turning back and running the entire length of this row of containers. As slow as they were shuffling along, it meant they would have to move fast.

  It wouldn’t do to give the zombies advance warning. Approaching them from behind reduced the possibility of being seen, but Lavender knew from bitter experience that zombies, for all their rotten condition, have an uncanny knack for smelling human flesh.

  Cautiously, she peered around the corner again. It was surprising how much closer they were despite their awkward gait.

  “Come on, if we’re going to do this, we’d better go now,” she said, nudging Carson. They turned about, rounded the other side of the container, and froze.

  Another zombie approached, this one moving at an alarming speed. It was head down, giving the pathetic impression that it was watching carefully where it placed its feet with each lumbering step. A huge chunk of its left shoulder was missing. With a start, Lavender realised it was the missing zombie. They had found all three of the undead she had witnessed from the relative safety of the container doorway. She wished she was still there.

  She grasped Carson’s hand, squeezing it tight.

  “Don’t look up!” she murmured under her breath, “Don’t look up!” Willing the mindless zombie to obey her.

  The creature convulsed, the crack of its ruined neckbone carrying in the frigid air as its head twisted. Its tongue lolled.