Killing The Dead | Book 21 | The Journey Home Page 5

  We carried on along the road, keeping a watchful eye on the undergrowth, and a short time later came to the town of Dunstable. It was a town much like any other with a road that passed through it, which was the only reason we were there.

  Houses that had once been well kept were falling down while the trees and bushes that had doubtless added a pleasing aesthetic to the otherwise bland streets, had spread to the point where we could no longer walk on the pavement.

  Not that it mattered for much of the town’s roads were empty. Either the zombies had arrived before they could flee, or the people had managed to flee successfully. If so, I had no idea where for there was nowhere safe to go.

  Nevertheless, it afforded us some place to spend the night and it was on the northernmost edge of the town that we found ourselves looking for a house that we could secure, so we could settle in for the night.

  The problem, I had realised early on in our journey, was that England was a damp country. We had a decent amount of rain, but the hot days were few and far between and when the days were hot, they tended to be humid rather than dry.

  As a result, houses that had been abandoned in haste, tended to have a problem with damp and mould. It was on the walls and ceiling, black and ugly to the eye. Or green and white, covering carpet and upholstery.

  We couldn’t stay in such conditions, even for a night, for breathing in those spores as we rested was hardly a good idea in a world that no longer had ready access to medication and doctors. That limited where we could stay and made the task of finding a place for the night that much harder as well as time consuming.

  Shops, I had found, were not great places to try to rest. Far too many had been looted and more often than not couldn’t be secured. While the vast majority of zombies should have died out, there could be some of the hardier breed still about, as well as human and animal threats.

  Pubs were not ideal venues and we’d had less than pleasant experiences being caught in them before, which left us with abandoned houses. We would find the one that had the least amount of mould and dust, then strip out any upholstery and carpets in the driest room and make the best of it.

  My preference, though, was for garages. If a house had a garage with a door that we could lock or at least block from inside, then I was quite happy to set down my bedroll in there. They tended to have less mould, were not the first-place people checked for loot if scavengers happened by and were usually dry and contained.

  Which is why we found ourselves, as the light began to dim, walking into a small cul-de-sac off of the main road that ran through Dunstable. I ignored the houses for the moment and focused on the row of garages that were tucked off to the side.

  “Looks good to me,” Gregg said, when I pointed them out. His face was drawn, and his shoulders hunched with weariness. “Let’s just get settled in, yeah?”

  He’d not spend his time in the bunker exercising as I had, and it showed. Ordinarily his health and fitness would have improved as we travelled, but without a better diet, that was not likely to happen.

  Abigail, being younger, seemed to fare better and had an almost boundless level of energy that even I found myself envying. I couldn’t help but compare the two as I realised that if my friend expired along the way, I would be stuck with her all alone.

  I resolved to find some fresh meat for my friend.

  But first I needed to select a secure garage. The first had a wooden door that was almost falling apart, and the second had a roof that had caved in. As covered in moss and old leaves as it was, I was sure that was well before the fall of the world.

  The next I opened and immediately paused as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. I carefully closed the door and moved to the next before the others could see.

  “Here looks fine,” I said, holding open the door and ushering them in. “Settle in and secure the door while I take a look around.”

  Gregg didn’t reply, just waved, while Abigail set down her pack and began the process of setting up our small camp. There would be no fire, not that night.

  I waited a moment at the door, watching to make sure they were not intending to follow before moving one garage over and opening the door once more. I slipped inside and reached for my torch, flicking it on and taking a good, long look around.

  Someone had been there, and if I wasn’t mistaken, fairly recently. Wood had been stacked against the wall, missing the layer of dust that lay atop the old boxes against the back wall. A bucket, redolent of ammonia, had likely been used as a ‘chamberpot’ of sorts to save them from going outside in the darkness to piss.

  Boot prints on the floor, at least that part that hadn’t been swept clean of dust, came in at least two sizes. The larger, most likely male, while the smaller would be either a younger woman or merely an adult with small feet.

  They had taken the time to fix a heavy bolt to the door that would slide into a bracket fixed to the wall. Added security and no chance of anyone opening it while they were inside. My attention was drawn to the roof at the rear of the garage.

  Like the others, it was a corrugated metal roof that would keep off the rain but not stop any determined invader. Should someone climb on to it, their footsteps would make quite the racket for those inside.

  Someone had cut a hole in the roof and fitted a frame around it, along with a hatch that was bolted from the inside. A ladder leant against the wall before it and I smiled with genuine admiration for whoever had been using the garage as a rest stop, for that is what it was.

  On the very edge of town, it was a place they could rest as they scavenged though the nearby houses. That told me two things. One, was that they didn’t live in the town, and two, they lived far enough away that getting caught outside in the night was a concern.

  They had added a small tin pipe as well, attaching it to the wall. One end connected with the roof and had been sealed in place and beneath it, what I assumed, was once a barbecue base. The metal, on a slight stand, was placed so that any smoke would travel up the pipe and out, allowing them to have heating and to cook.

  Smart people who had survived a long time by being careful. After so many years to still be using the place meant they had likely moved from elsewhere or only needed to scavenge infrequently. They could, also, have explored all closer places which is why they required a space that was safe to stay, with an escape hatch in the back.

  It was almost heartening to know that at least some people had survived. If nothing else, it meant that there would be people out there that I could very likely kill, and it had been such a long time since I had killed another human.

  I stepped back outside and closed the door as silently as I had opened it. No need to alarm whoever came by later and I was in no immediate rush to meet them. Anyone cautious enough to build themselves such a shelter for when they visited the town would not be rushing to greet strangers anyway.

  No, it was enough to know they were out there. If nothing else it would give me something else to watch for as we made our way along the road, for it was entirely likely that whoever was visiting the town would walk down that very same road we would be walking up.

  It would be fun indeed to find them, and to see what news they could share of the world aboveground. There was much I needed to know to be better prepared for when I reached the coast and began that slow journey north, to where I would be almost able to see my beloved, Lily.

  Chapter 7

  The next two days were a slow slog along an almost empty road that had overgrown farmland on either side and little else. What few cars we found were as empty of food as those houses near the garages had been.

  I could see that Gregg, at least, was becoming suspicious of that and he walked with his head up and eyes searching as his hand rested on the hilt of the knife on his belt. Abigail walked on blissfully unaware of what it likely meant. She had been too sheltered and had she been alone, would likely perish at the hands of the first group she encountered.

  By the end of that first day, we to
ok shelter in a small lodge set beside the road, roughly three miles out from the town of Dunstable. Like everywhere else along that route it had been stripped of anything edible or useful and was going to rot.

  At that point it was too obvious, and Gregg took me aside as he cast nervous looks towards the door that led outside.

  “How long do you think since people were here?”

  His whispered words, voice fearful, was almost enough to make me laugh. He too had been too sheltered and safe beneath the earth. He had been safe and comfortable with no real threat, especially in the last few years. He wasn’t used to the outside world and it had begun to show.

  “Long enough that we need not worry,” I reassured him. If it had been anyone else, I would have told them the truth, but he was my friend.

  Somewhat mollified, he nodded and ducked his head as he hurried over to help Abigail set up their bedrolls in the bedroom we would all be sharing. It seemed that they found comfort in being close even when they thought there was little danger.

  He hadn’t noticed the bucket that sat beside the window at the top of the stairs. Nor had he seemed to be aware of the smell of ammonia that clung to it. I was sure that if I were to go outside and stand beneath that window, I would find the ground well-watered by the contents of the makeshift chamberpot.

  Days, perhaps, no more than a week. Since the garage at the town had been squared away neatly, I imagined that they had stopped at the same lodge on their way back to their home. Not in Milton Keynes, I was fairly certain of that, but somewhere else, perhaps further north.

  We slept that night, cramped together in that hotel bedroom. I lay awake, listening to the sound of the wind as it rustled the branches of the trees outside, the spring rain hitting the window in a pleasing manner.

  I couldn’t help but wonder who it was that we were following. Survivors, undoubtedly, but good or bad people, I didn’t know. That irked me, for I still clung to Lily’s rules about who I could kill, like a man drowning. I had broken that promise I made her when I attacked the Genpact base, and I was determined to not do so again. Even though I had no intention of ever seeing her.

  It was all I had left of her to hold on to.

  The wind died down by morning, but the rain persisted, and we continued our journey with the cold rain on our skin and poor visibility. We didn’t stop for lunch as the rain refused to let up and there was little around us for shelter but the trees. Hardly an enticing prospect when we would need to fight our way through the undergrowth to reach somewhere only slightly less wet than the road.

  As the day progressed, it became apparent that we were going to struggle to find a place of safety to sleep along that long empty road. The few cars on the road were in a poor state of repair and would provide as much shelter and comfort as sleeping beneath a tree would.

  So, we continued on, and as the sun dipped down towards the horizon, four miles from where we had started that morning, we came to a roundabout. The island in the centre was roughly forty metres across and four roads connected to it, including the one we were on.

  Trees crowded the centre of that roundabout, and each of the roads connecting to it, so much so that we could barely see anything beyond. Not that there was much to see, just endless fields, bushes and trees that would be a pain to navigate.

  “Is that a sign?” Gregg asked, pointing.

  I followed the direction he indicated, wiping rainwater from my face as I peered at the partially obscured sign on the road ahead. Beside it, almost hidden by the trees, was a road that led away, barely wide enough for one car to drive down.

  “Might be worth a look,” I said, and without waiting for a reply, set off walking.

  The Flying Fox was the name proudly displayed upon the wall of the building. The gold letters had faded to a dull yellow and the whitewashed walls were streaked with dirt. Moss grew on the roof and ivy climbed the walls, almost obscuring the windows and door.

  Wooden tables were set out on the lawn at the front of the two-storey building, though almost hidden so high was that grass. I pushed my way through it, making for the door as the others followed on behind me.

  There were a few cars sat in the parking area and, I assumed, they had stopped there while fleeing and been caught by the zombies. The door had warped with the weather and I needed to hit it hard with my shoulder to force it open before we could go inside.

  I pulled out my torch and flicked it on, shining it around the dim room, noting the thick layer of dust that covered every surface and the spiderwebs that seemed to crowd every open space and corner.

  “You shouldn’t be in there,” a voice said, and I whirled, hand falling to my axe handle as I searched for the source.

  A young girl, no more than fifteen stood in the open doorway behind us, arms raised and a catapult in her hand. She had pulled back on the leather pocket that had a round metal ball nestled in it.

  Beside her, an older man watched us warily, a long spear in one hand with the butt rested against the ground as he leant on it to stare at us.

  Neither of them carried a pack, though their clothes were sturdy and waterproof. By their hiking boots, I suspected they were travellers, much as we were. Gregg was the first to speak, holding up his hands to show they were empty.

  “Hey, we’re just travelling the road and looking for somewhere dry to spend the night. We meant no offence.”

  “None taken,” the man said. He reached up to scratch at the thick beard that covered much of his face and I resisted the urge to itch my own. “Just, not safe in there, is all.”

  “Not safe?”

  “Aye,” he said, nodding sagely. “Old fella that owned it, he had a thing for spiders.”

  “Spiders!” Abigail almost leapt half a foot into the air as she twisted and turned looking for the loathsome little creatures. “What sort of spiders?”

  “All sorts, lass. A fella tried sleeping in there some three years ago. He was found a few days later, walking around inside as one of them undead things.”

  “What makes you think it was spiders?” I asked, fighting the urge to look around myself. While not really bothered by them, I was naturally wary of potentially poisonous breeds.

  “Well, the old fella that ran the place had all these spiders that were poisonous. When he died, back when everything went to hell, he smashed several of the tanks that held them, and the little buggers escaped. Infested the place ever since.”

  “Maybe we should leave,” Abigail said, voice squeaking, as Gregg nodded agreement.

  “Come on, there’s a place nearby that’s dry and safe,” the man said, turning and setting off walking. The Angry teen girl followed him after giving one sharp eyed look at my axe.

  There was no point arguing as my two companions hurried out of the door and with one last look around, I followed after them. Past the next building, some fifty metres away, and on towards a house set a little way from the road.

  The garden was as unkempt as any we had seen, and the windows were boarded over with red crosses painted on those boards as a warning to stay away. A purposeful deception I realised as I noted that the solar panels on the roof were spotless.

  We entered through the garage and as the door was pulled closed behind us, I held onto my axe handle. The others, seemingly eager to get to know our hosts, were far too trusting. The teen girl seemed to share my suspicion for she held her catapult with one hand and was ready to draw and loose the metal ball in an instant.

  The kitchen we were led into was large, though every surface was being used. Either holding containers of water, or wooden crates full of vegetables that I suspected came from the enclosed land at the back of the house.

  “Sit yourselves down,” the man said. “I’m William, and this is my granddaughter, Becky.”

  I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table that had space enough for all of us and set my pack down at my feet. The others followed suit as they introduced themselves.

  “You are?” William asked, looking
at me.

  “Ryan.”

  “A pleasure,” he said, as he pulled off his own coat and hung it on a hook beside the door. “Been a while since we saw someone new.”

  “You’ve been here a long time?” I asked.

  “This was my home for thirty years,” William said, nodding. “Likely be here till I die.”

  “Grandad!” Becky chided, glare fading for the first time.

  “Hush now.” He waved away her concern as he settled himself with a weary sigh in the chair opposite my own. “Now then, how about you tell us where you are from while Becky makes us some tea.”

  “We’re from-“ Abigail began but I cut her off.

  “All over. Been stuck in the south for a while and decided to head back up north for a bit,” I said. “You’re the first people we’ve seen for some time.”

  William’s gaze didn’t change but I sensed a shift of some sort. I had learnt enough over the years to notice such a shift, but I still couldn’t read expressions or body language well enough to understand what it signified.

  “Where is it that you’re going then?”

  “We thought Birmingham and then up the coast,” I said, watching his granddaughter as she prepared the tea. “How do you still have tea after so long?”

  “Nettle tea,” William explained. “It helps with my arthritis and is refreshing too.”

  Somewhat mollified by the explanation, I was still wary enough to make sure I wouldn’t drink until well after the others had. If they suffered no ill effects, then I would drink. If they did, well, then I would kill the old man and his granddaughter.

  “Do you see many people around?” Gregg asked. “I mean, there can’t be many about. Not after the zombies.”

  “A few. There’s a small group at the old Centre Parcs in Woburn Forest. They come and trade with us on occasion.”

  “Trade what?” I couldn’t shake my suspicion.

  “This and that.”

  Yeah, that didn’t help my suspicions at all. I narrowed my eyes and leant back as I watched him, willing to let the others do the talking for the moment, as the granddaughter placed a cup and saucer before each of us and poured a steaming pale yellow liquid into each.