The Undead. The First Seven Days (49 page)

  The ground is hard and compacted from the scorching hot summer and the Saxon makes light work of it, until we reach the smooth surface of the road that leads back into the main area. I familiarise myself with the vehicle while we go over the low bumps, causing the lads in the back to bounce around.
  I think back to the night and the zombie saying my name. I theorise that it must have been just the body expelling air and in the eerie night my imagination made it sound like my name.

  ‘You all right mate?’ I say to Dave.

  He is sitting in the passenger seat of the cabin.
  ‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ He replies, deadpan as normal.
  ‘You hungry too, mate? I’m famished.’
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘So, what do we need to do? Get some food and go to the armoury… anything else?’
  ‘I don’t think so; more ammunition and a bit more kit from the stores would be good.’
  ‘Okay mate, food first though - we could split up and use the two teams we had yesterday, one for cooking and one for getting the stuff, with you.’
  ‘Okay, Mr Howie.’
  I’m sure most of the lads are doing the same as me and thinking only of food and their stomachs. We follow the road for several miles; the plains are massive and stretch out on either side, as far as the eye can see.
  Eventually, we drive into the main building area. There are undead bodies littering the ground everywhere. Flies and insects are buzzing between the cadavers and I realise just how much of a disease risk all of the corpses across the country are.
  ‘Right, everyone out,’ I call, as I bring the vehicle to a stop on the large parade square. ‘We will split into two teams. Tucker, you’re on team Alpha, aren’t you?’
  ‘Yes, Sir,’ he replies, but looks worried.
  ‘Team Alpha will come with me and get the grub ready. Team Bravo are going with Dave to get what he needs from the stores and the armoury. Right, who knows where the… food place is?’
  ‘It’s called the Mess, Sir and it’s over here,’ Tucker starts off immediately, followed by the members of our team.
  ‘STOP RIGHT THERE.’ Dave bellows out in his drill sergeant voice, and everyone freezes, including me. I look round quickly, trying to identify the threat; my assault rifle already raised up. I see Blowers and Cookey are doing the same.
  ‘WHERE ARE YOUR WEAPONS?’ Dave shouts and I realise that half the recruits have got out and started moving off; their rifles still in the Saxon.
  ‘GET YOUR WEAPONS AND KEEP THEM WITH YOU AT ALL TIMES,’ Dave’s voice does the trick and they scramble back to the Saxon and gather their weapons, looking sheepish and embarrassed.
  I nod at Dave and he nods back.
  ‘See you in a bit, mate - say an hour? Will that be long enough?’
  ‘Yes, Mr Howie.’
  We set off to the “Mess”, and I wonder why the Army have to have such weird names for everything.

The Mess looks like most of the other buildings from the outside. The door leads into a corridor, which opens into a large canteen-style dining room, with long tables and benches. There is a long serving counter at one end; hot plates and cold cabinets now dark and cold.

Tucker walks down the room, rubbing his hands.
  ‘I don’t know what they’ll have left; I guess the meat might be off by now. What day is it? Tuesday? We’ll see, there might be something decent we can use - I’ll go and have a look.’ In his element now – he is the official cook and food supplier for our band of misfits.
  I follow Tucker into the kitchen area, which is spotless and very modern looking: huge ovens, multiple sinks and various equipment are around the sides. There are lots of work surfaces in the middle. Tucker walks through, taking it all in.
  ‘Have you done cooking before then, Tucker?’ I ask him.
  ‘I was joining the Catering Corps, Sir. I love food and always have done loads of cooking, as you can probably tell,’ he jiggles his large belly and laughs. ‘Ah, here we are…’ He opens two large, metal doors that lead into a huge walk-in chill room.
  ‘Won’t all that be off now, mate? If the power’s been off for a few days,’ I ask him and follow him inside.
  ‘The Army uses a different power supply to the normal grid, it’s gone now, but I was hoping it stayed on long enough to keep this lot chilled. Plus these are very well insulated from the heat outside, so it takes a while for the temperature to rise.’
  I see what he means, although the power is definitely out, the chilled room is decidedly colder than the kitchen or the outside.
  ‘Now let’s see, they must use the LILO method - so we just need to work out where that starts…’ Tucker says as he starts rummaging through boxes and packets.
  ‘The what, mate?’ I ask him.
  ‘The LILO method means Last In Last Out. Which means they have a system to see when the freshest stock is added, so they use the oldest stock first.’
  ‘Ah, I see, that makes sense.’
  Tucker identified the freshest line and starts pulling boxes out into the kitchen. I call the rest of the lads and we start a chain, piling it up on the work surfaces, until there is a considerable mound.
  I start poking through and see boxes of red meat, beef and whole chickens. I smell each of them in turn but they all seem quite fresh. Tucker walks back into the kitchen, as I’m sniffing.
  ‘They must have had a delivery of new produce on Friday, so we’re lucky this lot is still good.’ He says.
  ‘Are you using all of it?’ I ask him, surprised at the pile of goods.
  ‘Might as well, it will only go bad otherwise.’ He stops and stares at the pile and immediately starts separating them.

Tucker is, by far, the least fit of the recruits, and he gets a lot of stick for it, but watching him now, he looks focussed and very happy.
  ‘Anything we can do, mate?’ Roland McKinney asks, Tucker.
  ‘Oh yes, the power is still on…’ Tucker exclaims as he turns a dial on one of the gas hobs.

Then he checks if the oven is working.

‘Right Roland, can you grab some of those pans and fill them with water. Darren… if you start cutting these up into small chunks,’ Tucker thrusts a box at Darren and moves on to Nicholas Hewitt. ‘Nick, could you start chopping the veg, please mate.’
  ‘Anything I can do, Tucker?’ I ask him.
  ‘Err… no, Sir - thanks anyway - but we can manage.’
  I leave them to it and make my back out of the building and across to the parade square. The Saxon looks massive; it must be over two and a half metres in height and over five metres in length. I feel more optimistic about our chances of getting through London but, again, the delay concerns me. These lads didn’t have to come with us into the plains yesterday. I know they said that sticking together increases the chances of survival, but getting that Saxon was my objective and I did it to rescue my sister. I put them in danger for my own ends. In the church when the ammunition ran low and we were seconds from being invaded, not one of them moaned or said a word, but they stood together and prepared for the worst. So… the least I can do now is give them some time for food and rest.
  I meet Dave at the Saxon and we watch the recruits bringing boxes of ammunition out. Dave takes the magazines out and stows them in compartments in the vehicle. Then the spare rifles and ammunition for the GPMG - then more clothing – and finally some NATO helmets.

Once loaded, we head over to the Mess and walk in to a wonderful aroma: a mixture of meats and sauces, that sets my mouth watering at once.
  Tucker has done an amazing job. There are bowls and trays of food in the middle of one of the tables.

A few minutes later, and we are all tucking in; piling plates with food and shovelling it in to our mouths, without manners or etiquette.

There are laughs and jokes round the table as everyone eats their fill.

Dave stays quiet and eats an enormous amount of food, for such a slightly built man. We sit back, relaxed and contented and drink strong coffee.
  ‘So, I’m going to head to London with Dave. I promised I would drop some of you off on the way …’ I let the question hang in the air.
  ‘Sir, if it’s all right with you, I’d rather stick with you two, until you get to the Forts. I haven’t really got anywhere else to go,’ Blowers speaks first, his voice steady and decisive.
  ‘Yes, mate, of course - but going to London is going to be hard - are you sure this is what you want to do?’
  ‘Yes, Sir. I think Cookey feels the same way, we talked about it earlier,’ Blowers looks to Cookey who nods in affirmation.
  ‘I won’t last five minutes on my own and, besides, someone has to do the food and make the brews,’ Tucker offers.
  ‘That’s great mate, thank you,’ I say to Tucker. ‘McKinney, what about you, mate?’
  ‘Well… I want to see my family, but I know they would have headed with everyone to the Forts… if they haven’t…’
  ‘I understand,’ I interject, to try and save him the hardship of having to say it.
  ‘But, there’s no point me trying for home on my own - especially after seeing what they are like at night. So, if it’s okay, I want to come with you too,’ McKinney looks down at his empty plate, clearly uncomfortable with feeling like he has to ask.
  ‘Lads, Dave and I would be more than happy to take you all with us, you’ve proved yourself. Trust me, it’s not me doing you a favour, it’s the other way round.’
  ‘I’m going to head off, Sir - if that’s all right,’ Alan Booker offers, suddenly.
  ‘No problem Alan, where you heading to?’ I ask him.
  ‘I’ll try home first and then the Forts, if that fails. I live in the other direction - so I’ll find something to take, save you having to drive away from your direction.’
  ‘Alan, after what you’ve done for us mate, it’s really not an issue if you need a ride somewhere,’ I say to him.
  ‘Nah, thanks anyway. I can take something to use,’ he says but looks sheepish and avoids eye contact.
  ‘How will you take something, Alan? Even Dave and I struggled to find transport at times. It’s not as easy as you would think.’
  ‘Nah… it will be okay. I sort of know how to take cars without keys - if you get my meaning.’
  ‘Ah… a mis-spent youth eh, mate? Well, it’s a pity to lose you. Feel free to change your mind.’
  ‘Thanks, Mr Howie. I really appreciate it.’
  Alan is the only one that wants to leave. The others try and convince him to stay, but I can see his mind is made up.

Half an hour later, we are driving out of the gates and down the road.

Alan insists on being dropped off at the main junction and he gets out with his rifle, ammunition, and rucksack. There’s a silence after he goes and we drive on quietly. The recruits have been through so much together, in such a short space of time, and the loss hits them hard.

Cookey makes an effort to crack a joke, but it falls flat.
  ‘Now… are the rest of you sure that you want to come with us?’ I shout back to the lads. ‘Because there’s going to be a lot of zombie mother fuckers that need killing, Dave and I did want to keep them to ourselves, but seeing as you lot have helped out, we are willing to share them - but not if you’re going to be holding back.’

A few muttered responses.
  ‘Oh yes, a whole lot of zombies that want to eat brains…’ a few chuckles this time. ‘BRAINS!!! I MUST HAVE THEM BRAINSSSS…’ I groan the words out and then look across at Dave. ‘EAT DAVE’S BRAIIINNNSSS!’ A few more laughs, especially when Dave looks at me with his usual deadpan expression.
  ‘COOKEY NO HAVE ANY BRAAAINS TO EAT THOUGH!’ They laugh properly this time and start ripping on Cookey, who takes it well and abuses them back.

The tension is broken, for a little while, at least.

________________________________________________________

Sarah treads softy down the carpeted hallway; creeping forward and stopping at the first door. She knocks gently and listens with her ear pressed to the door and, after a few seconds of silence, she tries the door handle and is not surprised to find that the door is locked. She moves down the corridor, checking each door, knocking and listening and then slowly pushing the door handle down.
  Sarah hasn’t heard any noise from the neighbouring flats since the
event
began and she can normally hear the muted tones of the televisions; music being played or the tones of voices.

  She realises that she has never heard anyone from above or below her apartment, so has nothing to gauge whether the occupiers will still be there. Her floor is finished quickly; no noise and all of the doors are locked. Out of habit, she moves towards the lift doors and goes to press the CALL button, only realising, at the last second, that the power is out.
  She moves to the fire door and slowly pushes it open, looking down into the stairwell. The apartment block is modern and finished to a high standard; the developer went to the extent of carpeting the emergency stairwell and having brass rails fitted.

  Some of the more health conscious residents used the stairs for a daily workout. The carpet is light brown, carefully selected to absorb moisture and street dirt from the boots of delivery drivers. The developer also thought to add glass panes to each fire door, so that natural light filters into the stairwell.
  ‘Up or down?’ Sarah whispers to herself.

  Living on the 14
th
floor meant she was just over half way up. She stands still for some minutes, considering which way to go. In the end, she chooses to go up, knowing it will be quicker for her to run back down the stairs if she has to escape anything.
  The memories of seeing the undead bite into the living, makes her shiver with fear as she starts to ascend the stairs; keeping to the central carpeted section to deaden her footfalls.