Anno Zombus Year 1 (Book 2): February (12 page)

February 23rd Year 1 A.Z.

morning

The snow had been piling up while we had been in Melbourne, in places it seemed nearly as high as the barricades at either end of the freeway where The Family had made their home.  Our guards were civil enough, making sure we ate breakfast, even supplying it for us, complete with tea.  While we ate, a voice came from behind the barricade, belonging to a bandit.  He gave our descriptions, saying that we had stolen from them and murdered his companions.  We weren't to be trusted, he continued, and had brought a horde of Dead upon them as well.  The guard up top simply let him finish his rant and told him to fuck off to wherever it was he had come from.  It was, all in all, a scintillating conversation.

We were, as promised, escorted deeper into Family territory, our two escorts silently walking with us.  Apocalypse Girl asked me in a whisper if we were likely to make it back to The Think Tank in one piece.  I told her that if we did, I was never going to leave the place again.  Junior painfully grunted his agreement.

evening

After a day long march through snow and sludge, we arrived at the Western Parlour of The Mother, to find her awaiting us with a smile that went no further than her mouth, and several cups with a steaming pot of tea.  She bade us sit, and poured for the five of us and herself while the guards waited outside.  I began to open my mouth, and she shut me up with a glance, saying that she will hear our story later.  She then made it abundantly clear that the only reason she hadn't had us killed was that we were, as far as she was concerned, visiting foreign dignitaries and as such entitled to move through her land as quickly as possible.  She would allow us to remain overnight, but that was it.  If we were found inside The Family by noon tomorrow we would be decapitated and our heads added to the western minefield.  We sipped the tea she had poured for us in silence.

She asked us, simply, exactly how her son had died.  We all glanced at one another, then Junior admitted that he had fallen on him.  The Mother glared at him.  Redbeard then admitted to falling on the two of them, only to shrink under her glare.  I told her that he had told us to leave him, let him die, but that I couldn't do such a thing, and had put a bullet in his head.  She stood without a word, and stalked off into the night.  Moments later a guard poked his head in saying that we should leave as soon as can in the morning.

Assuming that meant we should stay in the Western Parlour overnight, we finished our tea, ate some jerky and the last of the cheese, and tried to get some sleep.  No doubt we would find that easier tomorrow night at The Farm.  Apocalypse Girl got onto The Think Tank with her phone, telling them that we needed a pickup from The Farm as soon as that could be arranged.

February 24th Year 1 A.Z.

morning

All eyes upon us as we walked out from the Western Parlour, it felt as though we had been judged The Sons murderers.  The Mother was nowhere to be seen, thankfully, I was loath to face her again, but news had spread of our brief conversation last night.  We entered the bus from its missing side, exiting through the door to the minefield of Dead heads that had greeted us when we first arrived.  As the door swung shut behind us, the voice of The Mother came from above.

“Anybody coming here from your group, your Think Tank, will be shot on sight.  I suggest your people vacate my farm pretty soon, too.”  She told us, “Now, you have precisely five minutes to get out of range of my archers.”

The Dead-head mines could sense our presence, as the sound of their chattering teeth informed us.  The snow, however, had built up around the barricade, covering the minefield neatly with a good foot of snow.  Sister climbed up onto Redbeard's back, as she was the only one of us with exposed ankles.  The rest of us had been wearing boots for a while now, and were in little danger of being bitten, but Sister's tattered sneakers offered little in the way of protection, either from snow or Dead teeth.

We carefully picked our way through the snow, avoiding anything that could resemble movement, kicking with our feet rather than striding.  Soon enough we were beyond the minefield, but still well within bow-range, and some Dead had noticed us from further up the freeway.  Sister remained on Redbeards back as I moved ahead of the rest of the group to dispatch the Dead with my katana.  About the only useful thing that had come of this apparent nuclear winter was the effect the cold had on the Dead, slowing them down dramatically.

late afternoon

All day spent trudging along the freeway we came, at last, to The Farm.  Apocalypse Girl and I had to help support Junior by this time, as the pain of his injuries coupled with the cold had driven him to the point of near collapse.  Redbeard was not far behind, as he had been carrying Sister on his back most of the day, though for the last couple of kilometres she had walked herself, and her feet were frozen blocks of meat inside the ragged confines of her sneakers by now.  Miner and Prospector had come out to greet us, their lookout from the new group having spied us on our way quite some time ago now.  The two other people from the new group, two women, had a fire going in the barn that we could rest by, and warm ourselves.

Apocalypse Girl discovered a message on her phone from The Think Tank telling us that Pilot had left the previous morning, and that there had been some trouble with the new people.  She showed me the message, asking if anybody else needed to know.  I shook my head, quietly saying that we don't need any trouble here, and don't know anything anyway.

We told The Farmers everything that had happened to us since leaving The Think Tank, but they elected to stay rather than bow to the wishes of The Mother.  If she wanted The Farm back, she would have a fight on her hands.  The Farmers shared their food with us, seeing as all we had was travel supplies, and they had a decent store from The Think Tanks stocks.  It was good to have a fresh-cooked meal again, warmed us up nicely.

I examined Sister's feet once we had settled, though the heat from the fire had warmed them enough that she had regained some feeling, they were still icy cold to the touch.  I told her to keep them warm and dry until we needed to leave, one of the new women giving her a fresh pair of boots with two pairs of thick socks to wear for the rest of our journey, and a towel to wrap them in until the chopper arrived.  Junior's arm was a different story, however.  We stripped off his outer clothing to discover that his shirt would not fit over the swelling of his arm, so we had to cut that off, and found that his arm, while not dislocated, had not only been badly damaged from the fall, but his hand was frozen stiff as well.  The little finger of his left hand was already beginning to turn black from extreme frostbite, the tip of the ring finger following its example.  We needed to get him back to Doctor as quickly as we could manage.

evening

We heard Pilot in his helicopter long before we could see him, and never had such a horrid sound given me such joy!  Sister's feet had improved quite a bit by now, but Junior had not remotely begun to recover, and needed to get back to The Think Tank as quickly as we could manage.  We watched from the warmth of the barn as he lowered the chopper to the ground, the rotors slowing to a stop as he jumped out of the helicopter and headed straight towards us.

He swore as soon as he saw Junior, adding that were it not snowing, he would risk flying at night to get him back sooner.  Junior, on the other hand, was simply glad to see his friend, and knew that help would soon be at hand.

February 25th Year 1 A.Z.

morning

Pilot told us, after we had piled into the chopper, that the newcomers had been causing no end of difficulties for Firecracker and The Colonel, though several of them had joined The Twin's militia and were primarily responsible for keeping the surface compound clear of Dead, but they didn't like the idea of anyone in a uniform running the show.  Under normal circumstances I would agree, personally, but having travelled with The Colonel, getting to know her quite well, I would think she was superbly suited to the task of keeping the rest of us alive.  Firecracker I didn't know that well, but I could tell she was smart and excelled at organisation.

Sister stared with wide open eyes at the world below us as we flew high above.  Apocalypse Girl simply reclined in her seat with her eyes shut, slight smile of satisfaction on her face knowing that we were safe from now on.  Redbeard sat in his seat, gripping it tightly with both hands, terrified that the chopper would suddenly drop out of the sky at any random moment.  Junior, however, was strapped into his seat, across from mine, drifting in and out of consciousness periodically.  Pilot had brought some painkillers along with him, knowing we had wounded, that Junior had practically leaped into.

evening

Remarkably uneventful flight, just snow falling everywhere.  A horde of Dead here, another there, other than that, just bleak grey snow covering everything as far as the eye could see.  The only difference between the ground and sky was that the sky still roiled with fury.  We landed atop the same building Pilot had chosen for us on our way out, saying once again that the weather was far too fierce to risk flying at night now.  Junior's situation hadn't changed much anyway, he still drifted in and out, when he spoke it was only to complain about how fucking much his arm hurt, and ask where we there yet.

With six of us sitting in the back, the chopper was getting a little crowded, though we were grateful for the extra warmth.  While we sat and ate jerky, Sister asked how we knew her brother.  Apocalypse Girl told the tale, of how we discovered a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, where the only inhabitants were an old couple and the bravest policeman she had ever known.  She then told of his contributions to our survival, and ultimately, his death.  Sister told us, then, of growing up with Copper, how he had taught her everything he had learned of survival, how to shoot, both with bow and gun.  Without his lessons, she might have died on the first day.

The wind howled outside the helicopter, blowing grey snow about in a gale, preventing sleep from coming to any but the overly-drugged Junior, and Redbeard, who claimed that he could sleep through World War Three, not that anything like
that
was likely to ever occur now...not that it needs to, with the Dead walking and a nuclear winter to contend with.

February 26th Year 1 A.Z.

morning

The wind continued to howl, whipping the snow on the rooftop about hard enough to sting the skin.  Pilot was clearly worried, but said nothing, just looked glumly at the weather and begun spinning the rotor blades.  Whether it was safe to fly or not was immaterial, Junior needed help, and we were running out of supplies anyway.  Pilot had filled the chopper while we ate the last of our jerky, washing it down with the last of our water.

Pilot told us in no uncertain terms to strap ourselves the fuck in, and lifted us up unsteadily into the gale.  The helicopter was knocked about brutally by the wind, but Pilot managed to keep us aloft, even moving in the required direction once he had managed to stabilise us a little bit.

noon

We could see, in the distance to the northwest, the roadway leading up to The Think Tank, and celebrated mildly in the back of the chopper, Junior coming back to full consciousness just in time to join in, then asked why exactly we were cheering.  Smiling like a loony, Redbeard told him, and we cheered once again.

The chopper swayed in the wind, being buffeted even more mercilessly than before.  Apocalypse Girl, seated next to me, grabbed hold of my hand, and as I turned towards her to tell her that everything was going to be alright, my stomach did a triple-back-flip.  I briefly wondered why, when I noticed that the ground was rushing downwards from above at a velocity that could not be considered healthy.  I don't even think I had time to swear.

evening

I regained consciousness slowly, I remember that much.  I was aware of the Dead moving towards the chopper, but couldn't bring myself to unbuckle myself from my seat, nor could I move my hand to reach my gun.  Groggily I glanced around at my companions, seeing not a one of them in a higher state of awareness than I, then looked back to the Dead.  I wasn't able to count in that state, I just knew there was more than one.  I also knew that there were fewer Dead shambling towards us.  I saw one fall down, wondered why momentarily, then another, the closest to me, fell dead next to the helicopter, a home-made arrow through its head.  I blinked, it seemed to me, and the rest of the Dead were lying dead.  Knowing there was no more threat present, my brain demanded sleep and I passed out once more.

late night

I awoke to find my companions and I had been removed from the helicopter wreckage, and that a fire blazed in the centre of the circle that the seven of us made.  That made me think for a moment, I was sure there had only been six of us, but sure enough, six forms other than myself lay around the fire, one who remained alert and vigilant, who was staring right at me.  His long grey hair tied back with a leather strip, he had grown an equally grey beard since we had last seen him soaking his shirt in fuel in order to blow up a Greyhound bus.  Archer grinned when he saw that I finally recognised him.