Ace of Spades Chronicles : Book One (16 page)

HINT # 4:

Nappies can double as a large wound dressing. Wet wipes are good when you want to freshen up and have no running water. Sudacrem is a mild analgesic and good for sunburn and dry rash. Superglue will seal a small wound.

***

From the street, you can only see what's in front of your face. But from two storeys up, looking at the darkening sky from your vantage point through a crack in the curtains, you can see five streets over. You can see the school playing fields and the grid locked roads and you can see gangs of these things roaming the unlit streets, reacting to each other and to any signs of healthy human life. You see a pack of stray dogs running along the grass verge, dodging outstretched arms that hang like diseased claws, and wonder if one of them is Hobo. Would Moya be with them, had she lived? You hope there are other survivors, like you; hiding out in their own homes. You yearn to see the occasional candle or beam from a torch flickering behind closed curtains. You can see the houses that have caught fire and those that have been vacated. And there are many. And you ask yourself...

'Self? Is this the reality I have chosen?'

A single flash of brilliance is followed by a rumble of thunder that seems to last for an eternity and it starts to rain. One of those heavy, twilight summer downpours that lasts for a quarter of an hour and leaves a shimmering reflective skin of water on everything it touches, and a silence in its wake that can't be matched; until you hear a very distant, terrified scream and snap back to a very real reality, more electric than any storm.

When I was a kid, my mum used to say that the rain was God's bath tub overflowing and that thunder was caused by the archangels playing football, and that lightening was a goal. Father Christmas delivered toys to every child on the planet on the same night and that I'd get big and strong if I ate all my greens. Father Christmas can be in more than one place at the same time? He's a quantum entity. Father Christmas is Doctor Who! I hate brussel sprouts and the Universe hates me.

This is not the reality I chose for myself.

I'm very stoned. And Jonny B is snoring.

***

The next morning we put some of our plan into action, and our first order of business was to block the vulnerable shop frontage off from the workshop. This was easier said than done. There was no way we could board up the whole window; it was too big, floor to ceiling and running the entire width of the shop. And there was already a long crack in one of the panes. We decided our best bet was to barricade the door way leading from the shop back onto a small landing which led down a half dozen steps to the workshop. Since we wouldn't need the steps, we ripped up the floor boards and completely removed the stairs. This left a drop of about five feet, down into the back of the workshop. We cut them with a hand saw to fit the frame perfectly, then we used the nail gun to attach the planks to the shop side of the doorway; that is, until it ran out of juice. With no mains electric, we couldn't recharge it, so we had no choice but to make some noise and do it the old fashioned way with hammer and nails. We pulled up some floor boards from the room that had once been a lounge, next to and on the same level as the kitchen. It was walled off now, but in its day, the room would have been the social centre of the building. Cut to size, we hammered more planks into the door frame on the shop side, leaving just enough room for us to crawl back through onto the landing, and then we boarded up the entire inside frame. We completed the job just in time, too. As I crawled through the narrow gap, infected were gathering in the street, alerted by all the banging. In all, it took us about two hours, and when we were done, we were hot and sweaty but felt happy that even if the infected broke through the window and got into the shop space, they would have a hard time breaking through our solid obstruction.

As Jonny B and I worked, Rinko went through the workshop looking for more weapons. Mostly gardening tools, she found a long handled turf cutter, a metal dibber that would be useful up close for punching holes into skulls; her words, not mine! A combination mattock, hoe and fork and a long handled heavy cultivator. As far as melee weapons went, we had a small arsenal. Unfortunately, every weapon we possessed required an element of physical fitness that needed to be sustained for an unknown period of time to ensure our survival. I could swing my spade for about ten minutes before my shoulder played up. After that I was running on vapours. I wasn’t kidding myself. I had the strength, the speed, the technique and the aggression, but not the stamina.

When we were outside, we made sure that we always had our goggles and our mouth guards to hand, and checked ourselves regularly for cuts and nicks. We could not afford to get infected via ingestion or absorption because of errant spray back.

Since I was the only one who possessed a full set of skateboard pads, we fashioned some custom jobs for Jonny B and Rinko. I had my Black Nitro biker gloves, so Rinko wore my skate boarding wrist guards, which were too small for me. Her hands were much smaller than mine, so they moulded to hers perfectly, and allowed her a firmer grip on her sword; like reinforced mittens. For her knees and elbows, we sacrificed one of the four wheelbarrow tyres, first cutting the rubber into four equal segments with a craft knife; we used two for her knees and two for her elbows, all cut to size. And for Jonny B, we sliced up the plastic shell of a pesticide sprayer, and made him a chest plate, knees pads and forearm guards. I then gaffer taped these to the appropriate body part and we hit the road.

Armed with Wallace and the machete, Jonny B watched my back, as I siphoned fuel from parked cars; those that were not standing vacant in the traffic jam or been abandoned with the engine running. We managed to pilfer a full ten gallons before a small group of Septix approached from the four way junction and
lurched
towards the car park. Rinko and her sword dealt with them. She was fearless; and quick. Hit Girl, Elektra and Lady Deathstryke, all rolled into one. She let one trip over the barbed wire I had left at the top of the steps, then sliced her head in two between the eyes as she struggled to her feet; her once neat as a new pin hair style and see through purple summer dress now matted with blood, puke and bits of chewed up flesh. We were able to shift a couple of cars and block the car park entrance; enough to divert any infected to a small gap between the vehicles and hopefully cause a bottle neck if we got overrun. I added more barbed wire to impede them further, and wrapped some around the side gate, carefully weaving it through and around the riot shields we had found in the police cruiser. Jonny B stood beside me, handing me the fencing tool as and when required, whilst Rinko patrolled the outer edge of the compound, keeping any infected at bay.

We all worked well together, a cohesive unit; and Rinko kept throwing me little smiles, which Jonny B picked up on. He elbowed me in the ribs at one point and I nearly decked

him, shooting him a look that said more than any punch could deliver. He backed off for a while after that. Yeah; the night before had been funny and the insinuation was right on my level. But now it was getting to be like a school yard jibe, and I didn't like it. He became slightly sycophantic; asking me what needed to be done. What did I think about this idea? What did I think about that idea? But he had put me in a mood, and I rejected all his suggestions without a word or a second thought for his feelings.

Before the outbreak, he had been a very belligerent person; likeable, but with an arrogant streak as wide as the Grand Canyon. He was never wrong, and would stoop to correct you, even when you knew your facts were correct and his were so way off base, they were in orbit. He had his positives, though. He was generous with his cash on a night out and was always punctual.
Now
, he was like a dog trying to win back his master’s favour after pissing on an expensive rug, and I was secretly enjoying watching him squirm.

I directed him to pull out all the spare palisade rails and he actually performed a micro bow before turning towards the workshop door. I decided I would cut him some slack and fetched a couple of warm beers from the refrigerator, passing one to Rinko who was sat on the kitchen steps, quietly sharpening her sword with my wet stone. She asked me if I wanted her to sharpen my spade, just as Jonny B came out of the workshop, carrying an armful of palisade rails, and I realised that Jonny B's cracks and innuendos regarding Rinko's obvious crush on me had made me embarrassed because, as the thought hit me like a truck, I did actually and naturally find her very attractive, but was rejecting the idea because of the age difference between us. She was seventeen and I was almost three times that; old enough to be her mother’s father. Jonny B had, through his childish rib prodding and constant nudge-nudge-wink-wink comments, hit a nerve. And his kowtowing was his submissive bully's way of saying sorry. But ever since his arrival when he got my attention by banging the locked side gate with his shoe, inviting every fucking infected within ear shot to my house; and his constant looking to me for guidance was really beginning to piss me off; and the fact that
I did
want to bang the shit out of Rinko was neither here nor there. I didn't want to be responsible for him.

I could see Rinko's turn of phrase working around his head like a dizzy hamster on a play wheel, and before Jonny B could respond or make any kind of inappropriate comment, I picked up my spade and passing it to Rinko said, "Yeah... thanks. You can sharpen my spade anytime you want." Jonny B exhibited a fraction of a smile and carefully placed the spare rails on the ground, then returned to the workshop to find some more.

Rinko took the spade from me and smiled. I smiled back. She
was
very pretty. Lara Croft meets a blue haired Maggie Q. Her left eye squinted against the sun and her mouth pursed into a soft, pink bee sting. For a moment we were in a different place, but we both zoned back as Jonny B dropped more rails on top of the first pile, creating an out of tune jangle of metal bouncing off metal.

"Do you mind," Rinko said, looking at Jonny B with a wry smile. "We were having a moment!" Jonny B mouthed the word sorry and after a beat, we all started laughing.

By the end of that afternoon, Rinko had sharpened anything that needed it, including all the kitchen knives. She had given my spade a keen edge and tightly wrapped gaffer tape

around the shaft for extra grip. It was a good job. Her weapon of choice had been sharpened with the patience of somebody self-learning the art of sword care, and as it leaned against the kitchen steps, its freshly oiled blade reflected back a million, tiny rainbows. 

Jonny B and I secured the spare rails to the fixed fence with barded wire and cables ties, so that the triple headed spike of each, wedged rail pointed up into the car park at a sharp angle. We shook hands and admired our work, taking it in turn to sip warm beer from our shared can. If a Septic tried to snag us as we opened or closed the side gate, they would either hit the riot shields or get snagged themselves on the barbed wire. And if they stormed the fence, the rails pointing out at waist height would impale them as they either forced forward or got pushed from behind; leaving their heads at the perfect height to be skewered.

It had been a long, hard day. That evening, we had some supper and a few drinks; even passed around a couple of joints. But the conversation was lacking. I’m not sure what time it was, but after my third very large glass of wine, I stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed.

After about twenty minutes, just as I was drifting off, I felt Rinko climb onto the mattress and curl up next to me. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming and must have dozed off. At one point, I’m sure I saw Jonny B silhouetted against the door frame, but, as I say; I’m not sure whether I was dreaming or whether he was actually there, silently staring at us like a ghost as we unconsciously spooned. When I woke the next morning, Rinko was already in the kitchen boiling some water for a cup of tea, and Jonny B was sat alone in the lounge. I said good morning to him, but all I got as a reply was a nod of the head and a grunt. Although nothing was said there and then, I could feel the building tension and jealousy in the air.  

After breakfast, I did a quick stock check of our raided supplies, whilst evaluating our situation. It was becoming clear that we couldn’t stay here. No matter how we reinforced our defences, sooner or later, it would all go tits up. One little mistake or error in judgement could cost us dearly. We needed a get out plan and a place to go plan. We had absolutely no idea what was going on in the wider world, and had not seen another survivor for about forty eight hours. I tried to convince my self that this was a good thing. If they were sensible, they would be keeping their heads down as best as they could; like us. Reassuring as it was to know that we were not the only none Septix in the neighbourhood, I was more worried about taking on something that would fight back with a weapon of some description. If we came in to conflict with people armed with guns, even air guns, we would be in deep shit.

We did another wheelbarrow raid before supper. Rinko wasn't so lucky this time around. She overextended her reach and almost got her head pulled off by one of the infected police men that had fallen out of the transit. She managed to roll under his arm as I hacked through the back of his wide neck with my spade, its cutting power now fully restored, thanks to Rinko’s efforts. But it was a near miss she could not afford to repeat. I told her to stay close after that. She didn't need telling twice. We found more bags of shopping and took the first aid kit from every car that had one, plus any flash lights. We found a 110 land rover with its keys in the ignition, but had already stockpiled petrol; if we wanted the Landy, we would need diesel or cooking oil. But then, we found a jet black Jaguar XS complete with keys and drooled over the prospect of driving out of here in style. And we found more booze. A BMW 5 series that screamed 'company rep' had crates of a new, independent single malt stacked in its boot. We drove both cars back to the compound, weaving them in and around the line of forsaken vehicles. Occasionally making contact with an open door, a fender or luckless wing mirror, we parked them on the road next to the blue Corsa and, after a meal of corned beef and beans followed by a tin of peaches each, spent the next few hours sat on the kitchen steps, sampling the single malt and rethinking our barricade across the car park entrance. We could easily park six cars in the safety of the compound, so accommodating both the BMW and the XS would be simple enough. And we couldn't leave them up on the road for a number of reasons. The most important one being; getting to them quickly.