“How are Linda and Ruth getting on?” I asked.
“They seem to be best part sorted now,” replied Mary. “Obviously, the children are a bit of a problem, not being able to get out as they normally would, but other than that everything is fine.”
“John, you can help me in the kitchen,” Josephine commanded. “We’ll make a drink first and then something to eat.”
“Yes, boss,” replied John as he extricated himself from the armchair.
Mary sat on the sofa and began to stroke Sheba, which seemed to calm the dog down. I took root in one of the armchairs and sat in silence, reflecting on the day’s events while waiting for our drink and eats to arrive. I hoped every day wouldn’t be like that one. Between us, we must have killed over 200 people, through no fault of their own – they were just unlucky to have contracted the deadly disease. I was starting to dose off again when John and Josephine arrived with our refreshments.
By the time we had finished eating and Sheba had received a few titbits, it was nearly ten o’clock.
“Time to try the radio,” announced John.
He extracted the radio from behind the sofa and turned it on. At first it emitted the usual static, but as the time reached ten it came to life. To our disappointment, we heard the same recorded message as on the previous three nights. Even so, we still listened intently, as it was something to cling to for any hope of relieving the situation.
Mary and Josephine went into the kitchen and started to wash up the dirty dishes and put them away. My son and I discussed the plan for the next day, not intending to do too much as we had enough supplies now to last for at least a week.
“That’s it, James – time for bed,” Mary said. “I’m really tired after watching you shoot infected people most of the day.”
Now the tension was leaving our bodies, we were becoming overtired.
John and Josephine said goodnight first, John holding the torch so they could see in the pitch black of the night, and Mary followed them up the stairs leaving me to put out the candles, and then, with a torch at the ready, I also retired to our front bedroom. Eventually we lay in bed, Mary the first to fall asleep. With the small window open, I listened to the squeals of rats, the barking and howling of dogs and unidentified shuffling sounds before finally falling into a deep sleep too.
Day Eight
Monday 19 May 2014
I could hear children’s voices playing in one of the gardens. Checking the clock, I saw it was only 7.30 am. Mary was still fast asleep and, quietly slipping out of bed, I got dressed and headed for the bathroom, then made my way downstairs. I put a pot of water on the main stove, but the gas had run out and after trying to light it many times I gave up, turning my attention to the camping stove we had kept on standby, which burst into life at the second attempt. Thank God for that! – I would have had withdrawal systems, and I was no good to anybody without my cup of tea in the morning.
It was nearly 8.00 am and there was still no sign of life from the bedrooms so, after checking the street through the window, I decided to go out into the welcoming sunlight in the back garden, noticing that it had completely dried out from the previous day’s rain. Walking through the side gate into the close, I would be able to find out whose children had woken me up. I strolled up to the barricade to see if there was any movement on the other side, be it infected, vermin or anything else that might produce a threat. I then headed for the source of the children’s voices, Brian and Linda’s house. I tapped on the front door and was surprised to be invited in by Ruth.
“Good morning all, how are we doing today?” I asked, entering the living room.
My daughters’ husbands, Brian and Tom, were there, along with my granddaughter Elizabeth and Miles’s younger son Martin, who was sitting on the sofa next to the girl, and seemed to getting on quite well with her.
“We’re all fine. Would you like a cup of tea, Dad?” asked Linda.
“That would be nice,” I said. I was never going to say no, and Linda had already disappeared into the kitchen knowing what my answer would be.
“Do you have any plans for today, James?” asked Brian.
“Check out John’s high-powered rifle and walk the dog, and that will be it,” I said.
“I’m going to Little Waltham to see if I can find my Dad,” said Brian.
“Make sure you have someone with you riding shotgun,” I cautioned.
“I’m going to take Jack – he can use the Ruger and he needs to get out more,” said Brian with a slight smile.
I continued through the living room into the kitchen, leaving Tom to pacify Cathy, the baby of our family. Linda and Ruth were organising the drinks. The screams and shouts from the children were much louder now. I opened the back door to get a better view of the garden. Jack and Ziggy were playing with my three young granddaughters, Barbara, Christine and Helen. I noticed Barbara was wearing her hearing aid. Turning to Linda, I said, “Do you have a good supply of batteries for Barbara’s hearing aid?”
“We have about a week’s supply at the moment, but next time we go … err … shopping I’ll try to get some more. Here’s your tea.”
I took a few sips, and walked into the garden to watch Jack showing off his skills with a football while the three younger children tried to tackle him. Eventually Ziggy pushed him, enabling Barbara to get possession of the ball, Jack receiving a kick in the ankle in the process that sent him wobbling to one side. Ziggy quickly moved in to steady him, not that Jack needed the help. I expected Barbara would be more careful after her ordeal in hospital with meningitis and her subsequent ear implant operations, but she seemed to show no fear, and was always climbing or jumping over things and in this case tackling her much bigger brother, when the two younger girls were a bit more hesitant. I joined in the fun, helping the younger girls to get the ball from Jack, and also Ziggy, who had taken Jack’s side. I managed to keep going for all of ten minutes before retiring to the kitchen to finish off my tea, completely knackered. I went into the living room, where Tom had finally managed to console Cathy. We had a general chat about our current situation and eventually decided that, if the government couldn’t come up with a solution, we might have to take up residence on a farm so that we could grow our own food.
There was a knock on the front door and this time Linda went to investigate, only to find an irate Mary standing there.
“Is your Dad in there?” I heard her ask.
“Yes, he’s been here for nearly an hour,” replied Linda.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for him. Tom and Ruth have disappeared, too,” said Mary.
“They’re here as well, Mum. You’d better come in.”
Mary entered the living room with Linda and gave me one of her evil stares. I’m in deep shit now, I thought.
“James, you could have let us know where you were going,” said Mary.
“You were still asleep,” I replied.
“Then you should have woken me up. I looked in the garden, went to Ruth’s house and went over to see if you were with Miles.”
“Yes, my love,” I replied. I was never going to win this argument.
“Josephine has made us breakfast, so you’d better come and eat it. I’ll be back later to see you all,” said Mary, as she turned and walked out of the front door.
“’Bye, everyone – it seems I have my orders. See you later,” I said.
Tom and Brian said nothing, and just smiled at me as I left the room, following Mary back to our house.
Josephine had made a drink and, using the camping stove, John had cooked eggs and some well-done bacon that was just about edible after four days without electricity.
“Mum, could you be ready to go out at ten?” asked John.
“Yes, that’ll be OK,” replied Mary.
“I should be ready by then,” said Josephine.
“That�
��s a bit unusual,” John commented. Josephine nearly always took at least an hour to get ready to go anywhere. I thought it best to keep quiet, as Josephine was looking at her husband rather sternly.
Once we had finished eating, John checked his rifle over and collected a 20-round box of each type of bullet for the .375, making a total of 60 rounds. This time I took the Ruger 10/22 target rifle with the 110-round magazine plus an extra 100 rounds of the mini-mags. Mary sorted out Sheba’s playthings that she wanted to take with us, plus the 26-foot extending lead. Mary, Josephine and Sheba went in the Micra, while John and I used the truck.
John made his way through the barricade and along Connor Way, which was now clear of bodies following our efforts of a few days before, turning left onto the main road and then right into Plantation Road, having to avoid a number of rotting corpses as we progressed to the end. Turning left into Church Road, we soon covered the couple of hundred yards to the sharp right-hand bend. Just around the bend, John took the dirt track off to the left towards Culver Farm. Mary and Josephine were not far behind, having just turned onto the track as we reached the large oak tree on our right 200 yards from the start of the track.
“Slow down, John – let Mum catch up with us,” I said.
John eased his foot off the accelerator and we slowed to a crawl. We took the opportunity to take in our surroundings. The track had been cleared of bodies, and the number of crows in this open, countrified position was considerably lower than normal now that they had a much better food supply in the towns and villages. Mary was now starting to catch us, and by the time we reached the very large house on our left at the top of the slope, she had closed the gap to 50 yards.
There appeared to be no sign of life in the house, and several of the cars that would normally be parked in the driveway were missing. We could now see the farmhouse on our right, 200–300 yards away, in front of which was an enclosed grass field surrounded by an electrified fence. This extended past the right wall of the farmhouse towards the River Chelmer. At the bottom of this field, a flock of sheep were grazing on the lush green grass. We passed the 200-yard-long driveway to the farm, to the left of which was a smaller field of grass, again surrounded by an electric fence, which ended just in front of the farmhouse. This field was completely empty of livestock. On our left was a field of wheat, still green at that time of year – it would be at least another two months before it would be ready to cut. We reached the bottom of the slope and crossed a small ditch that marked the end of the wheat field, and was also the end of the grass field going up to the farm buildings. We started up a small incline, passing a number of barns which were joined together to form one long building. At the end, a six-foot-high bank had been created which surrounded one side and the back of the barns, and I was hoping to use this as our back stop for John’s high-powered rifle. A field of rapeseed was now on our right, and on the left another of wheat.
“John, we need your best guess at fifty and two hundred yards from the bank by the barns,” I said.
“This is about fifty,” he said, swinging the truck 90 degrees into the wheat field.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He had come to a halt a short distance into the field.
“We can rest the rifle on the bonnet of the truck,” replied John.
“Good thinking,” I said.
Mary had stopped on the track behind us, and I walked the short distance through the wheat to the Micra.
“Leave the car here,” I said. “If you give me the keys, I’ll move it when we increase the distance to our target, which will be on that bank in front of the barns.”
“OK, we’ll walk the dog towards the wood,” replied Mary.
Mary and Josephine got out of the Micra, and Mary attached the extendable lead to Sheba’s collar. Josephine collected the light tactical Ruger from the back seat and attached a 25-round magazine. I noticed she had a spare magazine, which protruded from her jacket pocket.
“See you later,” said Mary.
“John, you be careful with that rifle and we will see you in half hour or so,” said Josephine.
“Will do,” replied John.
The women headed with the dog along the track towards a small wood 300 yards from us, which marked the end of the field in which John had parked his truck.
“I’ll put the targets up if you get the rifles ready,” I suggested.
“Can do, Dad,” replied John.
We had made up some targets by joining two A3 sheets of paper together, with some cardboard backing to stop the paper from flapping about in the wind, although it had turned out to be a very calm day.
By the time I got back from setting up the targets, John had both rifles resting on the bonnet of the truck, with ammo and magazines at the ready. First, we both had a go with the Ruger 10/22 target rifle with silencer, using the 110-round drum magazines, and after a few adjustments we had it zeroed at 50 yards. Next was the more interesting piece of kit – the .375 H & H magnum. We decided to use the 270-grain soft-nose bullets as we had more rounds of this type than the others. John took the first shot. An enormous boom! filled the air as it sent the bullet downrange at 2,750 feet per second, and a 20-foot-high spout of dust and soil shot into the air as the bullet hit the bank.
“Wow, Dad – at least you know you’ve fired a real gun with this thing!”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to be in front of that – and, even better, you’ve managed to hit the paper!”
Three shots later, the rifle and scope were finally zeroed. We then moved our position back to 100 yards and repeated the exercise with both guns, then doubling the distance again. This time we only used the .375, as such a distance was getting beyond the effective range of the small .22LR in terms of accuracy and power. Finally, we settled on a 200-yard zero for the .375.
We then took the truck and the Micra to the edge of the wood. We could go no further as an iron gate, bolted shut, blocked our path. We could at least give the .375 a try at about 300 yards, just to see how far the bullet would drop at that distance using the 270-grain bullets. It would obviously drop further when using the 300-grain bullets, but at least we would have some idea of how high to aim at that distance.
After firing three more rounds, it appeared to drop between nine and twelve inches. If we had been better shots, we might have been able to narrow the variation down further, but this was good enough for our purposes.
I looked back along the track past the small wood on our left and across the wheat field on our right, and could see Mary and Josephine in the distance with the dog. They had just passed a house surrounded by wheat fields and started to ascend the small slope, and as they followed the track at nearly 90 degrees to us, it finally turned towards us at its highest point.
John put the .375 back in the truck and then drove it back onto the track so it was pointing in the correct direction for our homeward trip. I did the same with the Micra. Mary and Josephine had reached the top of the incline and turned towards us 200 yards from our position. Suddenly, Josephine stopped and tapped Mary on the shoulder, pointing to something on the other side of the wood, out of sight for John and me. They both started to run towards us, and at first Sheba followed suit, but then she stopped, turned towards the small field beyond the wood and started to bark at something. The dog’s sudden stop caused Mary to come to an abrupt halt too, nearly dislocating her shoulder.
Josephine had reached the edge of the wooded area almost 50 yards from Mary before she realised her mother-in-law was no longer with her. She stopped and began to aim the Ruger at something, but to John and me it seemed ages before the crack, crack! of the Ruger broke the silence. We looked at each other and, in unison, said: “Forgot the safety catch!” John then shouted out, “Come on, Mum!”
Mary grabbed Sheba by the collar and dragged her ten yards before the dog saw the error of her ways and started to run in our direct
ion. Unfortunately, Mary was not the fastest thing on two feet, and could only manage the same sort of speed as an infected person. That was when John and I heard the rustling of leaves from inside the wood, giving the impression of approaching footsteps.
The first infected came into view as it came onto the track behind Mary, who had now reached Josephine. The latter took aim and fired three shots, which did their job, and the infected person collapsed onto the track. Both women turned and headed towards us, with Sheba leading the way on her extendable lead realising she was outnumbered and began to show a bit more enthusiasm for joining John and me.
Then two more infected cleared the wood and took up position on the track between our two groups. This caused the ladies to hesitate, but Josephine fed a new magazine into the Ruger and took aim. Realising what was to come next, John and I took cover behind the truck as Josephine opened fire. Two-two bullets whistled over our heads, one ricocheting off the top of the truck’s roof with a very loud whining sound. The barrage of shots finally subsided and John and I poked our heads out from behind the truck to see both infected lying on the track. Mary and Josephine moved forward again at a jog.
“John, you’d better get the .375 ready and guard this side of the wood,” I said, “and I’ll move out into the wheat field so we don’t end up shooting each other.”
John had already opened the passenger door and was extracting the rifle as I moved into the field with the Ruger in my hand and turned to face the wood.
The ladies were only 50 yards from us when another infected came onto the track between them and the dog. Quickly taking aim, I fired two rounds at its head, causing the infected to collapse instantly. Mary and Josephine started to move forward again, but Mary suddenly stopped, tugging at Sheba’s lead. The infected had fallen across the lead, pinning it beneath its body. Other infected people now appeared from the wood, but fortunately the ditch that ran between it and the track slowed them down and I managed to drop three more before they reached the track between the vehicles and the women.
Infected- The Beginning Page 27
