The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) (44 page)

She turned and headed towards the survivors that were now descending the hill, leaving Al to be taken care of by Paul and the others. Taking in a long, deep breath, she composed herself and walked over towards the two SUVs that were now sitting at the roadside, ready and waiting for the move out. The news about Tommy had sent her mentally and emotionally spiralling down into a dark chasm, but she needed to stop herself from falling before she was incapacitated with grief.

Stan climbed aboard, his boots crunching against the cubes of shattered glass, spent bullet cases, and the piles of bloodied dressings that littered the floor. The interior had the distinct and unmistakable smell of battle. The aroma of cordite lingered in the air, mixed with the pungent stench of blood, vomit, and urine. It was a fragrance that was as familiar to Stan as was the scent of roses to a florist. Charlie was in the driver’s seat, his head and arms resting against the wheel.

“You look like you could do with a brew,” Stan noted. “That bad, eh?”

Charlie looked up at him and nodded.

“Yeah,” he wheezed back at him. There had obviously been a lot of screaming and shouting going on, with the fumes from all the firing adding to the noxious air and playing havoc upon the man’s chest. “We lost Trev and about half of the troops from the base. We’re out of ammo, too. Not a single round left.”

“Sorry to hear that, mate,” Stan replied, trying to sound a little less autonomous than usual as he looked around at the condition of the vehicle. “Trev was a good bloke, and he’ll be missed. How did you manage to get through?”

“By the skin of our teeth. It was nothing short of a miracle that we made it. Those things were in their thousands and all over us.”

“The rest of your guys okay?”

“Yeah, the rest are good. Bryn lost his leg again, along with the radio, but that was all. What about you lot?”

“A few cuts and bruises,” Stan shrugged. “Who’s the new face with the dog?”

He nodded to one of the people who had climbed out from the bus. The man was standing to the side, a thick, bushy beard covering much of his face beneath a mass of unkempt and wavy hair hanging down from his head. He watched the people around him, saying nothing but paying attention to everything with his beady eyes. His dog was sitting by his side and doing the exact same thing.

“A friend of Al’s from the city. If it wasn’t for him, we’d all be dead.”

Charlie stood up and stepped out from the driver’s nook, brushing back his white hair with his blood and grime stained hands. He deliberately left the engine running, not wanting to run the risk of it never starting back up for them when the time came.

“What about this thing?” Stan asked, looking around at the wreckage of the bus. It looked as though it had been hauled through a huge meat grinder. “Will it make it?”

“Doubtful. It keeps stalling, and there’s virtually no power left in the old thing. Once we have everyone loaded up, it’ll struggle on the flat, never mind the hills.” He looked at Stan and nodded, realising that he needed to remain positive despite the odds that were being stacked against them. He smiled fleetingly, unable to mask his exhaustion and weariness. “We’ll try our best.”

A line of dark figures walked in silence, herded by Paul and the remnants of his troops as they were guided towards the bus. Within minutes, what ammunition they had left was redistributed amongst the few capable and unwounded militia that remained, ensuring that everyone had some means to continue the fight. The wounded were treated and the bite victims were segregated, being placed at the rear of the bus where they could be monitored.

Stan did not approve of the infected being brought with them. They were taking up space, adding weight, and using up valuable manpower and resources. They were going to die regardless, but he chose not to push the issue with Tina, and left her to make the call when the time came, placing the responsibility of caring for them on her.

They were her people, and although he did not hold the same sentiment for them as she did, he nevertheless sympathised with her and understood that she was incapable and unwilling to fast-track their inevitable demise or abandon them at the roadside.

The vehicles were loaded and the survivors were crammed into every available space. Charlie insisted that he would continue driving in spite of his exhaustion. His reasoning was that he knew the vehicle and its abilities, and more importantly, its inabilities. At least until they had put some distance between them and the city, he would remain at the wheel.

“We need to go,” one of the troops stationed at the rear of the bus called forward in a flat and weary voice. “They’re here.”

Behind them a number of figures had appeared in the road, following the sound of the bus out from the built-up area and into the fringes of the countryside. Undoubtedly there would be many more in pursuit, staggering along the rural lanes and crashing through the trees. Even over the sound of the engine the distant lament of the dead could be heard drifting through the suburbs and up into the surrounding lands. The people sitting inside the bus clung to one another, their wide and terrified eyes sparkling as they shivered against the cold that blew in through the broken windows and the fear that coursed through their bodies.

“Let’s go,” Stan called over the radio from his SUV. “Get us out of here.”

Old Charlie released the brake and pressed down on the pedal, the engine growing in volume, and the wheels slowly rolling forward as they began to limp away along the road, leaving the dead city and many of their own people behind.

23

Charlie had not been wrong. For over eight hours the dilapidated convoy had trundled towards the west, travelling at an extremely slow speed, and having to make regular stops for one reason or another. Mechanical issues, blockages in the road, and the unforgiving terrain; all added to a painfully slow and perilous journey.

The bus was shaking itself to pieces around them, leaking vital fluids and constantly overheating. The mechanics battled to keep the vehicle on the road, but it was proving to be a near impossible task. It was difficult for a vehicle of its size and condition to negotiate a gradient that was anything more than a short, shallow slope. Even then their pace was reduced to nothing more than walking speed. Each time the vehicle came to a halt and stubbornly refused to climb a hill, the entire bus needed to be emptied, with every available hand having to push.

The noise of the chugging engine and slow progress inevitably attracted unwanted attention. Time and again wandering infected stumbled into the vicinity, descending from the hills and crashing through the trees or venturing out from the remote villages, wailing loudly with excitement and creating panic amongst the survivors. On more than one occasion, Charlie and Tina barely managed to prevent a rout as the dead made their presence known and the people around them charged for the bus and sought safety. No matter how few there were or how far away, terror always rippled through the survivors as they heaved and pushed at the heavy vehicle in an attempt to force it up yet another hill. 

Each time they halted, the limp bodies of the people who had perished along the way needed to be carted from the vehicle and disposed of at the roadside. Some were civilians succumbing to their wounds and ailments, while others were members of the militia who had died from the injuries sustained during the fight for the depot. Unfortunately, there was never any time to afford them any deal of dignity or ceremony, apart from the ritual destruction of their brains. They were lowered with respect, but then left exposed to the elements, and the dead.

The sun was already beginning to set again. The wintery days were short, and the temperature continued to steadily drop. Many of the people on board were suffering from the cold and hunger. Most of the food stores and warm clothing had been abandoned and left behind during the chaos of the evacuation, and some of the survivors had tossed away their personal grab-bags in fear that they would be slowed down. The selfish actions of some of the civilians angered Tina and forced her to wonder why she and her troops were risking so much and suffering such high casualties for them. However, there were others who proved their worth amongst the evacuees, willing to endure whatever it took to make it through, and pulling more than their weight during the exodus, dispelling her concerns about their overall use, and reminding her that they were still a community.

Despite the low speed, they had made some ground, covering almost ninety kilometres since setting out on their journey. The end was almost within their grasp, but they were approaching mountainous terrain and would soon be navigating much steeper inclines and narrower, winding roads. The weather was expected to worsen and the temperature to fall much lower, and it would be a test of the bus’s sustainability and the endurance of the people on board.

Having handed the bus over to one of the capable civilians a few hours earlier, Charlie had taken the chance to get some much needed rest. Now he was back in the driver’s seat, insisting that it was he who would take them and the unwieldy bus through the mountain passes and the vast swathes of Welsh countryside, confident that he could handle the vehicle much better than any of the others. There was no resistance to his self-imposed position as the nominated driver, and he had already proven himself to be very capable of the task.

Just in front of Charlie and guiding them through the twisting roads was one of the SUVs. Stan was in the commander’s seat while Al was driving. They had Flash, Nobby, and Bryn with them. The bullet wound in Flash’s side was causing him a lot of discomfort, but he insisted that he be more than just a passenger on the bus. He was determined to do everything that he could to help get them to the coast, silently enduring the pain and batting away even the slightest suggestion that he should take some rest.

“Road ahead clear,”
Taff’s voice squawked into Stan’s ear through the radio. The two SUVs were using the smaller, personal radios, while the one remaining larger set was with Charlie in the bus.
“Got some scrap on the right ahead, keep left.”

Taff and Bull, along with Mark, the unconscious veteran, and two of the surviving militia were acting as the vanguard, driving their SUV a few kilometres ahead of the main body and checking the route while clearing any large obstructions that they could deal with. If the road was impassable they would immediately begin searching for an alternative, hoping to find one before the lumbering bus arrived and was forced to halt until another way around had been identified. Their aim was to afford enough advanced warning so that Charlie could make adjustments and avoid having to bring his bus to a complete stop. If he needed to slow down, then that was always a better option to sitting idle, wondering whether or not the vehicle would move again when the time came.

“Hey there, my precious little princess,” Taff said with a smile while staring down at Kyle when he noticed the man’s eyes were open. “About time you woke up.”

The veteran had been unconscious for much of the day and had finally roused from his chemically induced coma. He was dazed, and his throat was dry. His eyes were slow to focus, and his brain felt as though it was shrouded in some dense mist that hindered his ability to make sense of what was happening around him. He tried to sit up, but his strength seemed to have left him and rendered him feeble and unable to function properly. He rubbed at his neck and licked his dry lips, his words unable to form inside his parched throat.

“Here.”

He gladly took the bottle from Taff and began to gulp, the cold fluid drenching his mouth and tongue, and cascading down over his cheeks as he threw his head back in an attempt to take on more water at a faster rate.

“Easy now. Don’t overdo it.”

“Where are we?” he croaked as he drained the last of the bottle and wiped his hand across his cracked lips.

He looked around at the people that were crammed into the seats beside him. Immediately to his right he saw a dog staring straight ahead without paying the slightest bit of attention to him. At first the veteran wondered if the dog was real or maybe even stuffed and taken with them by someone like Bull who was partial to picking up silly souvenirs. Lucky turned and looked at him, let out a long yawn, and then turned his attention back to what was happening in front.

Mark looked back at him from the other side of the dog and grinned, pointing to the window beside his head, and opening it just enough to let in a gust of icy air. Kyle felt the cold on his face and began to realise that the swaying and lurching that he was experiencing was nothing to do with his condition and the effects of the drugs. They were in a vehicle and moving. He pulled himself upright and pushed his legs out in front of him before turning to look out of the misted window beside him. He wiped his hand over the glass, leaving a wet smear as he created his own porthole to the outside world.

“Headed for the coast just as we planned,” Bull replied from the driver’s seat as leaned back to hand him more water.

Kyle reached down to his side and checked for his rifle. He quickly realised that it was not there. Suddenly he felt helpless and vulnerable. Like in a dream where he was standing in front of a gawking crowd of people and then realising that he was actually naked. He looked around at his feet and then grasped at his waist, frantically searching until his fingers came into contact with the grip of his pistol. Instantly, he began to feel more secure, knowing that he still had one of his weapons, and that he had not been stripped completely.

“You didn’t need your rifle, mate. So we gave it over to one of the civvies on the bus to keep hold of for you. The guy is a better shot than you anyway.”

“I’ll be wanting it back when we get to where we’re going,” the veteran snorted back at Taff and ignoring his taunts.

He then remembered the reason why he was in the condition that he found himself. He turned his head, forcing his chin towards his chest and attempting to see the wound in his shoulder as he pulled at the blanket that was draped over his upper body. The dressings were still in place, and he began to tear at them, needing to confirm for himself whether or not there was any sign of infection.

“Easy, cowboy,” Mark reassured him. “We’ve already checked. It doesn’t look like there’s anything for you to get your thong into a twist over. You’re clear as a bell, mate.”

However, despite it being an instant relief for him to hear those words, they were not enough for the veteran. He still needed to know and see the wound with his own eyes and make his own judgement. He pulled at the bandage and gauze, tearing them away and ignoring the sting of the cold air against the gaping hole in his shoulder. In the fading light, Kyle inspected the injury, rotating his body so that he faced into the setting sun and giving him a better view of the damage.

The tissue was swollen and red, tender to the touch, but that was to be expected. There was no indication of the infection and the tell-tale signs were absent. There was no blackening as the flesh around the centre slowly died, and the veins remained beneath the skin rather than angrily protruding through to the surface. He felt light headed and weak, but they were the after effects of the strong painkillers that he had been given. There was no fever, and his brow was dry. He leaned back and let out a sigh, feeling that he had been given another chance at life.

“See? I told you. You’re fine,” Mark smiled at him.

Kyle sat and stared out through the window for a while, watching the green landscape as it flitted by.

“Where are we?”

“God’s country,” Taff responded with a sense of pride, referring to his homeland.

“Bollocks,” Kyle retorted with a ridiculing smile. “That means wind, rain, and fucking big hills.”

“And there’s no sheep these days for him to get excited over either,” Mark taunted.

“Check that out,” Bull said with eagerness before Taff was able to fire back at the two men who were making fun of his roots.

“There, look,” one of the militia gasped from the rear. He was pointing across to their left. “I don’t believe it.”

Just to the side of the road and moving slowly through the fields, Kyle saw something that almost took his breath away. Having just been given a new lease of life the scene appeared all the more beautiful to him at that moment than it would have done at any other time.

“Fucking hell,” Taff grunted, unable to look away.

Tina was standing beside the driver’s nook of the bus, watching the road ahead, and making idle conversation with Charlie in an attempt to keep his mind occupied and preventing him from falling into a daze. She had managed to heat the last of the coffee from her own personal rations and now sat balanced against the ledge of the front window, holding the mug and feeling the heat radiate through the plastic and into her cold fingers.

“How’s your friend?”

Tina shook her head.

“Not good,” she replied sadly.

Tommy had been steadily growing weaker as the infection spread through his body. He was already at the stage of slipping in and out of consciousness, burning with fever, and in agonising pain as the flesh around the bite wound died and turned black. She had sat beside him for most of the journey, holding his hand and watching him slowly slip away from her. Now Frank was watching over him.

“He’s a brave man and deserves better,” Charlie said thoughtfully while remembering Tommy’s selfless actions at the depot. “It’s a shame there aren’t many more like him these days.”

“There’s you guys. You didn’t need to…”

“Heads up on the left,”
Stan’s voice urged them through the radio.

“My God,” Charlie said as they rounded a long, right-handed bend in the road, interrupting her before she was able to comment on the courageous actions of Charlie, Stan, and the rest of their group.

Tina turned and instantly saw them. At first she was confused to what the strange lumps were, but as her brain caught up with her eyes she began to recognise the long forgotten shapes. She had to kick herself mentally, unsure if she was becoming delusional in her exhausted and cold state.

“Jesus Christ, would you look at that? Where did they come from?” she asked rhetorically while pressing her hands and face against the cold glass of the windscreen.

“A zoo, I’d imagine,” Charlie replied, still negotiating the long bend while alternating his attention between the road and the strange vision.

To the left a vast herd of giraffes, elephants, gazelles, and other exotic animals were covering a wide expanse of land and slowly trundling through the long grass, grazing at their leisure as they headed towards the south. Amongst them were other animals that were indigenous to the UK such as sheep and cows, having joined the large group at some point in the past, and forming a strange herd that was born from the need for safety.

“They must’ve been surviving like this since the beginning,” Charlie uttered, mesmerised by the awe inspiring sight. “There must be thousands of animals out there.”