Breaking News: An Autozombiography (43 page)

The children were goggle-eyed by this point, and I must admit Mike had got better at telling stories. Lou said nothing, and just stared into the fire.

‘
Anyway, there were other stories, too; far too many to go through now. Filthy Gordon collected information on all the camps they heard from, and had a map set up. He’d put a pin in each, and could reel off a story for every one. The country was dotted with them. When he first heard that I was trying to head back to Worthing he told me about a man with a red beard and two beagles who set up camp with his wife on Cissbury Ring, who’d kill you if you didn’t sign his contract.’

‘
Well, that’s not strictly true,’ I said.

‘
One of those beagles is mine,’ Al snorted.

‘
Well, half of its bullshit anyway. It’s like these survival tales have become new folk stories, I suppose,’ Mike stretched out again. ‘To keep the kids quiet, you know. Bullshit or not though, they said you had saved a hundred men women and children, felled a thousand zombies and a thousand trees, and then built a pub because you needed the refreshment!’ He beamed. ‘The Cissbury Chapter’s reputation, as I say, precedes you.’

I didn’t know where to put myself.

‘
That brings me onto my next… well, duty I suppose. When I finally got ready to make the journey back to Sussex, I was given these, one for every camp I would meet on the way.’ He pulled a flattened scroll of paper from his jacket pocket. ‘A man dropped them off in Portsmouth one night in the winter. A representative of someone important.’

‘
No.’ I said, agog. ‘What do you reckon, The Queen, the government or the church?’

‘
He didn’t say who he represented, apparently, but you should read it. I’ll bet a tenner Liz got whisked off quick-sharpish when they started puking in the Palace. He didn’t have white gloves and a top hat on or anything,’ Mike laughed. ‘He came in an ancient Land Rover with three soldiers. They stayed for a night, and he explained to Filthy Gordon that they were establishing contact with the surviving citizens of England.

‘
Get this - there were many survivors in Scotland who had been cut off, where the disease had spread more slowly, and they easily slipped into ancient ways of governing themselves. They had all politely declined the representative’s offer, but said if they could help the English in any way they’d be delighted. Gordon loved that - Wales was pretty much the same, apparently. Anyway, the flunky had travelled the country, stopping at obvious centres of activity, areas of life. Walled towns, ports, that sort of thing, you know.

‘
He was looking for people who’d made maps just like Gordon’s. He took careful notes, and then filled out these scrolls, which he left with instructions to distribute them as best he could. Oh, and a map each. That was it. He wanted a representative of Cissbury Ring to have one.’ He handed it to me.

‘
It’s like an ambassador. Fuck. Perhaps we should decide who’s the leader… you know, who the representative is. We’ve never decided,’ I said to Mike.

‘
Aren’t you the founding member of the Group of Four?’ Mike asked me.

‘
Well, yes,’ I replied, ‘but its like Al says, one of the beagles is his. Everyone’s done something, I mean it’s not like I did anything special. Anyone would have done what we’ve done, wouldn’t they? Surely?’

No-one said anything for a while. Lou was smiling at me. Al spoke first.

‘
I’ve always said I’m in no doubt I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.’

‘
I don’t answer to anyone else up here do I?’ Jay shrugged. ‘We’re all survivors up here, but it’s your camp.’

‘
Dawn and I, well, you know how grateful we are, don’t you?’ David had his arm round Dawn. ‘Credit where it’s due and all that.’

‘
You have looked after my children; your mother has been like a mother to my children too. I am indebted to you and I am also proud of what you have done,’ Dal frowned, ‘and so you should be too.’

‘
He is the Messiah!’ shouted Jerry in his best
Monty Python
voice.

Raucous laughter joined the murmurs of agreement from those that had gathered by the fire. I was proud, but I was more curious about the scroll.

‘
Okay then, does that mean I get to read this thing now?’ I asked, pulling at the red ribbon.

‘
Read it!’ Jerry hollered, egging the children on to make a noise too.

‘
It’s an invitation,’ I was trying to sound relaxed. ‘It says “
A special summons to an honourable member of the Cissbury Ring encampment, one of the sixty-five hundredths of Sussex
”…’

‘
That’s some old-school shit,’ Al said.

‘“…
to a Council of the scattered fragments of our island, on Midsummer’s Day this year, for one week at the Windsor Encampment at Windsor Great Park
.” that’s right by my old university,’ I said. ‘Lou and I got lost there once, when it was dark, do you remember sweetpea? I got freaked out and tried to climb a tree, but Lou had hauled me down and made me carry on until we could see the road.’ Everyone laughed. Sometimes I wondered why she loved me so much.

‘“
You will not be granted entry without this missive and three copies of your local charter,
’ I read, ‘
two duplicates and the original, all signatures included. Make a third copy to stay within your camp. If you have a verbal charter, commit it to paper along with the signatures of all present.
” I wonder if Bob’s got one at Bramber?’ I asked.

‘
Bramber Castle?’ Mike waved another scroll at me. He had four more.

‘
I thought you were stopping?’ Lou asked.

‘
Oh, I will for a day. I’ve got to find Hanna though,’ he said. ‘I promised her I’d come back to her, before I went.’

‘
Where is she?’ I asked.

‘
Now? I don’t know, but I know she was in Brighton, staying with her parents when it broke out.’ he said. ‘It was the holidays at university.’

‘
Oh. Do you think she’s alive, Mike?’

‘
I’ve got to find out. I’m going in a straight line, that way,’ he pointed, squinting. ‘I’ve got to get there before next week.’

‘
Why, what’s next week?’ I asked, dumbly.

‘
Midsummer’s Day.’ He grinned.

I was getting increasingly nervous – I really wasn’t expecting to do much more travelling in my life, before Mike arrived with that scroll. Dawn spent a lot of time with me making me ride on the back of her horse, all over the Downs. She said it was a patient, strong horse which could easily take us the long but relatively safe route recommended on the map Mike had shown us. Cleared or regularly patrolled sections of track which linked known encampments were marked in blue architects’ pencil. Red areas were no-go zones, mainly correlating with the densest pre-infection population. We transferred some of the information from Mike’s map to a few we’d collected in the library, including an old map of the south of England Jinny had brought with her. It had some really detailed local tracks across the Downs, so we thought it might come in useful further afield too.

Our best route took the South Downs Way west from Cissbury to a place called Lynch Down south of Midhurst, where we could take the old Roman Roads pretty much all the way into Windsor Great Park. It was a bit of a dog-leg but it beat trying to take a more direct asphalt route, and I certainly agreed with the notion of avoiding towns.

As well as a few sacks of quicklime for bartering with I decided to take something with me which might go down quite well – providing they had a generator. Jay lent me his newly sharpened sword, and his scabbard. Patveer lent me his sheepskin - the biggest one yet - and told me not to be cold in the night. Dawn thought we’d be travelling for at least one night, so I packed some smoked ham and butter, and Jerry gave us a pitcher of his latest fire-water. My dad thumped me on the shoulder and wished me all the best. My mum had simply started fretting about anything from underpants to water. I grabbed some bread too, and Jay wrote out three copies of our charter which Lou and Jenna took round for everyone to sign, and lots of people wished me luck.

Al appeared with something dark red draped over his arm. It was his zombie protection suit, and when it was laid out you could see the perfectly stitched patchwork of different material. Around the elbow and knee joints was softer, suppler hide from the bellies of deer, stretched over metal reinforcements which Al had hammered into shape. The main body of the suit was made from thick cow hide, stained a marbled red-black by red onion skins Al had been collecting from the compost heap. A high collar was an addition to the original pattern stolen from the motorcycle suit which covered my throat and halfway up the back of my head. It was stiff, but surprisingly comfortable when I tried it on, and Al said it should loosen up quickly with use. It had been studded with inset flint arrowheads, to strip the teeth from the rotten gums of any stinkers fixated on my neck. He’d got two zips from ruined trousers, which meant I could wear them with any shoes, but Al had also re-upholstered a pair of steel-toed safety shoes he’d found in the same red-black skin. Also inset into the top of the forearms and the shoulder blades, and in a spine effect down the back, were sharpened strips of corrugated iron, stitched and riveted in at a vicious angle. The sewn-in chemical gauntlets were fingerless to allow me to operate the longbow, which was strapped across my back by part of the inbuilt quiver belt. Below the knees was completely solid, with a re-shaped length of drainpipe inbuilt into the material, and a chest-plate made from a cast-iron omelette pan. It looked great, even on me, and Jay laughed when I held my longbow that I looked like a
Marvel
baddie.

‘
The Bearded Bowman,’ he giggled.

Soon – sooner than I’d hoped - it was time to leave. Lou and I tried for a baby for a bit before I really had to go – Al had put in a handy access panel under the steel codpiece. Dawn was getting impatient though, and pointed out that I had been the one that wanted to strike camp before night fell.

Lou and my mum were both crying when I left, and Dal rode with us for at least fifteen miles up until the point where we left the South Downs Way. The Roman road Mike’s map suggested stretched out like an arrow in front of us, overgrown in places but passable. We crossed the A272 and the A3, riding past Alton and Basingstoke, through pillowed fields and over teeming hedgerows towards Silchester. We stopped to water the horse three times, and thought we should ride through the night and stop first thing in the morning instead of trying to set up a camp in the dark. The steed was doing well, and was happy to stretch its legs. There was no need to ride through the night as it happened - we were drawn to the smoke of a large encampment as sun set. We trotted down the track towards the camp, lined with flaming torches chained to tree stumps. From the dim glow of its fire we could see it was on flat ground, with high fencing following the surrounds of what we were told by its residents that evening was a Roman town. It made sense – it was at the end of a Roman road. Siclhester was a busy camp, with strict rules, and had great gates that lowered like drawbridges. The quartermaster helped us find a spot to tie the horse and told us they knew about the Council meeting, and they had been working with “the Queen’s men” as he put it.

‘
What have you been doing?’ Dawn asked.

‘
Clearing the forest, yonder.’ He pointed at one of the four gates that opened out onto straight, green lanes leading away from the camp. ‘We been marking the way through to the Windsor Camp.’

‘
How far is it?’ I asked.

‘
Ooh, twenty-odd miles. Won’t take you long on a mare.’

We thanked him for the straw and the advice, and took in the new sounds and smells. It was basically two playing fields, surrounded on two sides by modern roads, yet totally enclosed by the perimeter which was constructed from a mix of modern fencing, scaffolding poles and sheet metal. We made our way to the largest of the buildings, a wooden barn. Inside was pealing with laughter, and the smell of gin and ale oozed from people’s pores. Blazing torches hung from the clay-covered walls, and a hog roasted in a trench at the entrance. Many wore the leathers of people who worked with horses, others wore tweed; and some even denim and trainers. All were ruddy-faced in the glow of the oil lamps. Straw lay on the ground, and a counter top had been made from plywood, which stood in the corner furthest from the open barn wall.

‘
Can I help dear? Grand Council folk are you? Up to the Great Park?’ the old lady asked. I was gawping at some prostitutes, so Dawn spoke to her.

‘
Yes, we’ve been summonsed to the Council. I have the papers.’