Anno Zombus Year 1 (Book 2): February

Anno Zombus:

Year 1

February

Dedication:

For Alex, she knows why, and Rhiannon, for putting up with my shit.

February 1st Year 1 A.Z.

morning

The world was covered in snow.  Not literally
covered
, mind you, but for an Australian it would definitely appear to be.  The phrase
white as snow
, however, in this instance, is erroneous. 
This
snow was greyish in hue, even at its whitest it could only be described as beige.  The Colonel smugly took it as a sign of validation for her nuclear winter theory.  The rest of us took it as a sign that we needed to stay warm and keep together.

Apocalypse Girl looked out a window at the weather in disgust.  She had wanted to start moving towards Canberra once more today, but when the snow began to fall we felt it better to stay near shelter.  Copper was already talking about taking the Ute and heading off to Melbourne, one problem being that though we were all willing to go there as a group, nobody wanted to separate.  Even Biker, normally reserved and aloof, was staying within arms reach of people.  The other was that it was
fucking snowing
and nobody wanted to walk through that shit.

The only positive thing we could see about the oncoming winter, whether nuclear or Dead related, was that the Dead would have as much difficulty as we when it came to mobility.  Worse, even, as their mobility was already at a sub-human level.  We needed to leave this place, and soon.  There was not much chance of survival in this tiny town that we had already stripped of its meagre supplies.

noon

The snow kept falling all morning, coating the town with a dull grey dust.  We debated among ourselves whether or not it was safe to drink, and to test it out, The Colonel boiled some up.  After it had cooled down to room temperature, she had a hesitant sip.  We were all staring at her, at least half expecting her to start gnawing on one of us any second.  When all she did was grimace at the unpleasant taste, and after several minutes all she said was that it tasted like a goat had pissed in it, but she felt fine.  I looked more closely at the glass she had used, seeing tiny black flecks floating around in it.

“They're particles of ash,”  Said The Colonel when I asked her about it.  Apocalypse Girl mouthed the word, wide eyed.  “Not Dead ash, but this was no doubt part of Tokyo, or Beijing maybe.”  I handed the glass back to her, saying that I will stick to bottled water for now at least.  Honestly I am not certain which prospect I found the most disturbing, drinking the Dead, or drinking what was once a major population centre.  I resolved to keep a close watch on The Colonel, just to be sure nothing untoward occurred.

evening

Gnawing on jerky I subtly observed The Colonel.  She was acting like normal, no sign of fever or other illness.  So far so good, it would seem.  Copper kept talking about Melbourne and his family there.  He knew they were probably dead, we all knew that about all of our loved ones that we'd been apart from, but he felt the need to check up on them nonetheless.  Biker wanted to go with him, though I half think it was just to get as far as possible from her memories of The Abbott and his crew of brutal rapists, from whom she had managed to escape as they were being torn apart by the Dead.  Who could blame her for that?  Apocalypse Girl and The Colonel both wanted to head for Canberra, in hopes that there was some semblance of government, or at the very least order, remaining.  I personally think that even hoping for any kind of return to normality is futile, but we needed some kind of plan, and Canberra via Melbourne was just that.  A kind of plan.  The kind of plan that would probably result in our gruesome deaths, in fact.  But that was shitloads better than no plan at all, which most certainly
would
result in the death of everybody here.

The front door banged open loudly, and we jumped up thinking the Dead had found us, but no, it was only Junior and The Twin, back from their patrol.  They had little to report, other than more snow.  No new Dead had been spotted in the area, no fresh tracks in the snow, other than those made by the patrol I had gone on with Copper earlier in the afternoon.  The only thing I could think of was that we needed to leave this place before we all died, either from starvation, being eaten by Dead, killed by bandits, freezing to death, or, failing all these, simple fucking boredom.

Apocalypse Girl, arm bandaged from being shot a few days ago, was surfing the internet on her mobile phone, in an attempt to garner some knowledge of any events more recent than the Dead rising.  So far there was not a lot.  Videos showing either people being eaten by the Dead, or else last farewells from the bitten.  A few with survival tips, but nothing new there.

The subject of leaving came up, and we were off.  The Colonel insisted that we needed to get to Canberra as soon as we possibly could, Copper saying much the same about Melbourne.  The Twin and Junior wanted to wait a few days, just in case the snow melts to provide easier passage.  I remained silent through the discussion, thinking to myself, trying to imagine what Archer, our now-deceased Vietnam veteran comrade might have done.  We needed some kind of portable house, really.  Like a tortoise, or a snail.

February 2nd Year 1 A.Z.

morning

Nothing was decided about leaving last night, and the snow was now deeper.  We stood outside, the seven of us, staring at the Ute, wondering how we could work this.  I had suggested the snail idea over breakfast to much wide-eyed enthusiasm.  It had been decided that since the noise of an engine attracted the Dead, that we would have to push it anywhere we went, but with seven of us, and being on wheels, it shouldn't be too difficult.  The Twin pointed out that we would need a snow-scoop attachment, not unlike the Dead-catcher that had been on our old Valiant only lower to the ground.  The other part of the snail idea, the actual house itself...that required a bit more planning.

Junior's idea was to find a tent and attach it to the back of the Ute.  In theory, not a bad idea, but the Dead could be inside before we would even know it.  Also, we had no way of knowing how deep or intense a winter was coming.  The Colonel suggested a frame covered with tarpaulin, which was a much better idea, the tarp was ready and waiting in the garage behind the Ute.  The main issue present with this idea was the frame itself.  Looking around the house we found very little that we could use as a frame until The Colonel, with an exasperated sigh, told us that we should be using gas and water pipes from within the walls of the house.  We then began taking the walls to pieces in an effort to find piping of the appropriate dimensions to use as a frame for the 'snails house' attachment.  Meanwhile, the snow continued to fall outside.

noon

Biker and I were out scouting while the others began working on the 'snails house' for the Ute.  We had thus far seen no sign of either the Living or the Dead, and planned to head back to the house when we heard a cry for help.  Turning, we spotted a man running along the road, occasionally falling on his face, sending up a puff of greyish snow.  Biker stiffened as he neared, and I approached him while she held back, shotgun at the ready.

“Praise be to God!”  He exclaimed, “You are the only Living souls I have seen in days!”  He then collapsed at my feet with exhaustion.

Biker rolled him over onto his back with a foot.  She then kicked him in the ribs.  He groaned, but otherwise gave no sign he was even conscious.

“That's The Abbott...”  She told me, voice tight with rage.  The Abbott had been leading the group of thugs that had been 'protecting' her and the other women she had been with in order to justify raping them whenever they wanted.  Biker had told me that The Abbott had never actually taken advantage of his own rules though, never violating one of the women in his camp.  No, that had been the privilege of the guards.  She kicked him once more, this time in the head.  “How the fuck did he survive?”  Again his head snapped back as her boot connected with it.

“We'll never know if you keep on kicking him like that!”  I told her.  She stopped, and we began to drag him back to the house with us.  When we arrived we saw the 'snails house' had been completed, it just needed to be hooked to the Ute somehow. I called Junior over and got him to take charge of The Abbott, as he was beginning to stir once again.  I explained who he was, and Junior added his own bootprint to those left by Biker before marching him inside the house.  I went over to inspect what looked like an overgrown vacuum cleaner bag.  There was room enough inside to stand, barely, an open floor so that we could push the Ute with ease.  The perimeter of the 'snails house' had been sewn around unconnected pipes.  The pipes made it heavy enough that the Dead wouldn't be able to lift it, and the fact that they weren't joined gave the whole thing flexibility.  The Colonel showed us that the way in and out was in fact through the rear window of the Ute, and over the tray, which would be covered with as many blankets as we could manage.  Two of us would be in the Ute's cab up front, two in the tray, resting as much as able, with the remaining three pushing from behind.

mid-afternoon

The Abbott was just as insane as Biker had told us.  He ranted about how the end times had come, and how God had told him in a vision that he was to lead mankind to a new kingdom of salvation and blah blah fucking blah.  I had thought we were done with the religious nutters when the Dead rose, but no, it would appear not.  I asked him what kind of salvation he thought he was entitled to for encouraging the abuse of the weak for the gratification of the strong.  He claimed at first to have believed that, but once he saw the group he had been leading torn to shreds before his very eyes he had seen the error of his ways, apparently.

According to the Abbott, he had been crawling backwards on hands and knees away from Dead that were about to eat him when our loud vehicular party had rolled on through, drawing the attention of the Dead away from him.  As the Dead had followed us, so had The Abbott followed in their rotting footprints.

The door opened, and Biker walked in.  The Abbott, had he not been tied to a chair, seemed as though he would have dropped to his knees in front of her.  As it was, he began begging her forgiveness.  She duly ignored him, instead turning to me telling me that The Colonel had done an inventory of our ammunition, and it was grim.  As it was we had only two shotgun shells remaining, not much in the way of .45 ammo left either.  She then told me that The Colonel wanted to talk to me about the 'snails house'.  I nodded, then left her alone with The Abbott, not even registering the fact that she carried the shotgun under her arm.

As I approached The Colonel, asking her why she wanted to see me, barely registering the confused look on her face which soon turned to concern when first one shotgun blast, then a second, came from inside the remains of the house.  We all ran for the house, knowing what we would find, knowing it was more than far too late.

The Abbott's head was completely missing, blood seeping from the stump of his neck.  Biker, on the other hand, was worse off.  The poor woman's head was mostly gone, yet one eye still shone brightly, staring directly at me.  She still breathed, raggedly heaving her chest up and down, still able to breathe despite having shattered teeth working their way into her windpipe from her demolished lower jaw.

I saw her eye vanish, popping as the bullet passed through it, into what remained of Biker's brain.  The remains of her head flew backwards to shatter against the floor, and it wasn't until I holstered my gun that I realised I had been the one to shoot her.  Apocalypse Girl put her good arm around me, and we left.