Killing The Dead | Book 21 | The Journey Home Read online

  It was, perhaps, the most delicious fish I had eaten in a long time.

  The days passed slowly, with little of note and few words spoken. Those that were, generally concerned the weather which was damp and cool. Each of us had our own thoughts and kept them to ourselves, mulling over what we had heard.

  Five days after leaving William’s home, we passed by a recycling site on the outskirts of Milton Keynes. Our journey had taken us to the western edge of the town, far from the compound towards the east.

  Our choice of direction was east into the town or west along the A421. Crossing the overgrown fields and forests to the north was not something any of us particularly wanted to do, so west it was. Barely three miles a day and almost three weeks out of London, we had travelled nearly fifty miles and still had another two hundred and fifty to go.

  If everything worked out just right, that was another fifteen weeks, almost four months of walking to go. Of course, we wouldn’t make three miles every day, and some days we would need to take a break and do no walking as we scavenged for food.

  Six to eight months then. Which was not as bad as I expected but was still a long time. Five years stuck beneath the earth and almost another to even reach a place close to the island we had made into a home. A place close to my family.

  We carried on along the weather-beaten A421, stopping at each car we found and searching it thoroughly. We had each developed a role with those cars and we carried it out without speaking as we approached.

  I would first check that there was no danger lurking within, which was unlikely, but lack of caution was a good way to die in the apocalypse. Once sure all was safe, the others would move in while I kept watch.

  Gregg would check the boot while Abigail would search the interior. Any baggage would be dumped on the road beside the car and once we were sure there was nothing of value to us inside, we would go through each bag one by one until we were done.

  If lucky, we would find some food, but far too often there was nothing but the precious belongings of those who had fled, and we would continue on our way.

  While food was scarce, we had little worry about water. The life straws were invaluable allowing us to drink safely from any source, no matter how brackish it might be. Still, that would not be much use if we starved along the way.

  “Another day,” I said, staring up at the darkening sky and wiping the rain from my face. “We need to take another day to find food.”

  “From where?” Gregg asked, his tone grumpy and his ravaged face set in a scowl that made me grin. “Look around, mate. The last house was five miles back and the last car a mile. There’s nothing out here but bloody road, trees and grass!”

  “I can try and set some snares,” I suggested. “See if we can catch a rabbit or two.”

  “You’ve said that every night for the past week,” Abigail muttered. “I don’t see any rabbits.”

  She had a point. As a predator, it seemed that I was much more adept when my prey was human or zombie. The smaller and furrier creatures of the world seemed much more able to avoid my attempts at ending their lives.

  “I’m open to suggestions then.”

  “The map said there was a village, yeah?” Gregg said.

  “Close by,” I agreed. “Though I’m not sure how close.”

  “Well I say we keep travelling. We carry on until we find the road that leads to the next village and we go there. We can sleep in a house and search them in the morning for any food.”

  “Agreed,” Abigail said, her chin jutting defiantly.

  She had definitely lost her fear of me and I wasn’t sure whether I should be annoyed by that.

  “Fine by me,” I said, and turned away to signal the conversation was over.

  Two hours and three cars checked over later and we came to a turn off. Right beside the road was a kennel and Abigail took one glance at it before she turned her glare on me.

  “Not a chance in hell I’m sleeping in there. I don’t need to see what happened to those dogs that were left behind.”

  Since Gregg seemed to agree, I lifted my shoulders in a shrug and turned into the road that led a little northward. A short distance along the road, I paused to stare up at the sign.

  “That the village name?” Gregg asked, squinting up at it.

  “Yeah, place called Thornborough,” I said. “I’ll look for it on the map tonight and update our route.”

  The village was old, I noticed that as soon as we arrived. Single and two storey houses built of whitewashed stone, now grey with age and years of British weather. Stone tiled roofs covered in moss and falling apart, many of the tiles having come loose.

  Ivy covered many of those houses and the trees that were in gardens were overgrown and covered large areas with their branches, bringing a welcome shelter from the rain as they darkened the ground beneath.

  Barricades had been erected, simple lines of wooden spikes sharpened, their tips dark with blood, the wood splintered and broken from where the zombies had tried to break through. The village people had tried to defend their homes, and I could respect that.

  With the rain falling heavily and the sun almost below the horizon, we passed through the barricade and headed towards the closest house. I tried the door, pleasantly surprised to find it opened easily beneath my touch, and we went inside.

  Single storey, we flicked on our torches and quickly but thoroughly checked each of the rooms. Once sure that it was safe, we gathered in the kitchen and began pulling open the cupboards.

  “Empty,” Gregg said.

  “This one too,” Abigail chimed in.

  “Yeah, they all are,” I agreed, closing the cupboard I had opened. “Check the rest of the house.”

  Both Gregg and I had a great deal of practice at searching abandoned homes as we had done it many times over the years before the bunker. Abigail didn’t have that same experience, but she was a quick study and had soon learnt how to search efficiently.

  Gregg took the bedroom, while Abigail continued in the kitchen. I headed to the living room and set to work, wrinkling my nose at the sour odour of old mould.

  Dust covered every surface and the cushions and upholstery of the furniture was ruined with a white mould that would send clouds of spores into the air at the slightest touch. I pulled on my mask to protect myself from inhaling those spores and lifted the cushions.

  Personal belongings were ignored, those knick knacks and photos that people gathered. I had no interest in whatever smiling faces were showing in those picture frames as I searched for anything, we could either eat or make use of.

  I was disappointed to find nothing and I left the living room, closing the door behind me as I stepped into the hallway and pulled off my mask.

  “Kitchens been cleaned out,” Abigail said. “It’s weird, pots, pans, cups and cutlery have been taken. There’s no carving knives or anything like that. Not a single bit of food either.”

  That was strange. People always left something when they fled. “Nothing but mould and dust in the living room.”

  She pulled a face at that and turned as Gregg joined us. “Anything?”

  “Nothing. Clothes are all gone and so is the mattress,” he said. “Place has been stripped. Bedroom is dry though. We can sleep in there.”

  “Good, the living room is a no go. Anyone checked the bathroom?”

  “Yes,” Abigail said. “Medicine cabinet is empty too.”

  “Someone survived then,” I said, thinking about that. If there were survivors, it was not inconceivable to think they might still be around. “Bed down, we’ll take turns on watch, just to be sure.”

  The bedroom was small, with a king-sized bed frame taking up much of the room, a chestnut dresser and wardrobe were set against the wall and the window was bare, the curtains missing. I couldn’t help my frown at that as I thought back to the living room and realised, I’d not really noticed that the curtains were missing there too.

  “We need to cover that,” I said, ti
lting my head towards the window. “Use my blanket and I’ll take first watch.”

  I dumped my backpack beside the door and headed outside to take a short look around. There wasn’t much by way of garden, and the house was set apart from its nearest neighbour which allowed me to walk fully around it.

  No obvious sign of recent activity but that didn’t mean much. I stood in the garden and tilted my head to the side as I listened but could only hear the falling rain. If there were survivors in the village then I would expect there to be some noise or lights that could be seen from the road.

  There was nothing though. With the zombies gone there would be little need to hide their presence, unless they were so weak that they feared raiders. I turned to head back in and stopped at a yelp of surprise from the house.

  I hurried in, knife in hand and stopped in the bedroom doorway, looking for the cause of alarm.

  “What is it?”

  “Saw something!” Abigail said. “When I was putting the blanket over the window.”

  I didn’t wait to hear more but rushed straight back out into the rain, pulling my axe free of the loop on my belt. I skidded to a stop on the waterlogged grass at the back of the house, scanning the overgrown bushes for signs of movement.

  A rustle from my right and I spun, axe rising. Something big, moving quickly, just beyond the hedge. It kept low to the ground and I couldn’t get a good look at it as I ran forward, almost leaping through the broken branches of the hedge where it had made its way through.

  Open fields beyond with a line of trees to my right and a dirt track leading away. There was little light to see by and so I slid my knife back into its sheath, heart racing with something close to excitement as I pulled out my torch.

  “See anything?” Gregg called from the other side of the hedge.

  “No.”

  Nothing moved beyond, though the grass was tall enough that anything could be hidden amongst it if they kept low to the ground. It was something, though I wasn’t sure what, and I hated the fact that it had run.

  “Survivor?” Gregg asked and I shook my head though he couldn’t see the motion.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then what?”

  “Something interesting,” I said, not holding back my smile. “Finally!”

  Chapter 10

  The night passed without anything significant happening and in the morning, tired and grumpy with our clothing still damp from the downpour of the day before, we headed out.

  I stopped as soon as I was outside the door, holding up one hand to warn the others back. The day was clear, the grass still wet, and there was an odour in the air that I was familiar with.

  Woodsmoke.

  “There’s people here,” I said, voice low.

  “What do we do?” Gregg asked. “You want to risk it?”

  “Risk what?” Abigail gave the two of us a quizzical look. Of course, she didn’t understand what type of people you might find out in the apocalypse. “William and Becky were nice. No reason to assume these people won’t be the same.”

  I didn’t bother responding to that ridiculous comment and turned away as Gregg grabbed her arm to pull her close and whisper furiously in her ear. I didn’t need to see her eyes widen with fearful surprise to know that she would soon enough grasp just how bad things could get.

  “Stay here,” I said, setting off walking.

  There was one main road through the centre of the village, and it curved like a banana, with homes and businesses occupying either side of that road. A few smaller streets would branch off, but they were, one and all, dead ends.

  I ignored them as I walked, the not unpleasant odour of woodsmoke growing thicker on the air the closer I came to the centre of the village.

  A man, white beard, and weather-beaten skin, who was pushing a wheelbarrow out through the gates of the church yard, stopped as he caught sight of me. He didn’t wait, just dropped the handles of the wheelbarrow and turned to run back into the church.

  He was an older man with a pronounced limp, so it was not quite a sprint, which allowed me some time to look around as I stopped in the centre of the road and awaited the response.

  It was not a long wait.

  A small crowd, young and old alike, carrying rough-hewn spears and farm tools, came running. They spilt out onto the road as I watched them, a carefully neutral expression on my face as I waited and learned.

  They were not warriors, no, they moved like the farmers they were. Ordinary people trying to rebuild some kind of a life after the fall of the world. There was more fear than anger on their faces and many an arm wavered as those spears were pointed in my direction.

  As they circled me, I noted their clothing was clean though worn and the grass verge alongside the village road was trimmed, much as the branches of the trees in the nearby gardens had been cut back.

  That told me there were enough people to spare to keep their village, or at least that part where they lived, clean and tidy. Time to spare, which also meant they had ample food and water and no need to simply struggle through each and every day.

  The house beside the church had an antennae rising up from the roof, attached to the side of the chimney, and that was a problem.

  “Who are you?”

  Six feet two, if I were to guess, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His face almost covered by a coarse beard of thick black hair and hands like shovels. He certainly seemed imposing at first glance, but I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched as I noted the fear in his eyes.

  “A traveller,” was all I said, not moving as I studied his face. “One that did not expect such a welcome.”

  “No one travels these roads!” Long haired youth with a patchy beard and cheeks that almost glowed crimson. He clutched his spear as though afraid he would drop it if he eased his grip just the slightest. “None that aren’t up to no good anyway!”

  “Hush, Michael.”

  I turned to the more reasonable tone that I caught in the voice of the woman who spoke. Older than me, but younger than the bruiser who had first spoken to me. Pale eyes studied me much as I did her, and I had the impression that she was not liking what she saw.

  “Forgive our wariness,” she continued, voice mellow and tone soothing, as though she were trying not to frighten me. I almost laughed aloud. “We have had unpleasant experiences from those who have visited here.”

  Her hands smoothed the front of her white apron and from the small plume of smoke rising from behind the red-brick church building, I guessed that she had been preparing a meal over a cooking fire. Which told me much.

  “We don’t mean any trouble!” Gregg called out from behind me and I spun, hand dropping to my axe as I cursed silently.

  My friend had his hands in the air to show they were empty, while Abigail stood just behind him and a little to the side. Eyes wide with fear, she watched the crowd and looked to be ready to bolt at the first sign of them moving towards her.

  “I told you to wait.” He ignored my scowl, and I found myself once again regretting ever having made a friend. “You should have waited.”

  “Yeah, if I did, mate, you’d be just about at the point where you were threatening them.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “Look,” Gregg continued. “Don’t worry about my friend. He just wanted to make sure it was safe for us.”

  “And you are?”

  The woman was in charge, I was pretty sure of that since even the big fellow who had first spoken was silent and waiting for her cue.

  “I’m…” He caught my glare at the last moment and while I was sure the woman picked up on his slight hesitation, she didn’t react. “Alex. I’m Alex and this is, Lisa. Our surly friend over there is Robert, but you can call him Bob.”

  His flash of teeth was all the humour he showed, and I deepened my glare. How the hell was I supposed to intimidate someone into doing as I said when he knew I would never harm him? It was, to be frank, quite intolerable.


  “Well, Alex.” The woman’s lips twisted at that and I suspected she knew the name was fake but didn’t seem inclined to make an issue of it. “You may call me, Alice.”

  “A pleasure,” he replied, bowing his head a little. “We mean no harm and are just passing through on our way to the north.”

  “From where?” the bruiser behind me demanded.

  “Calm, Daniel,” Alice said softly, waving him back with one hand. “Perhaps we should all lower our weapons so that we can speak in a more civilised manner.”

  There was a little bit of a murmur, but the spears were lifted so that their points were skyward, and those with other sharp implements to hand, slowly lowered them. At a gesture from Gregg, I too moved my hand from my axe handle.

  I was a little disappointed that there was to be no immediate violence, but there was still ample time.

  “We were preparing breakfast,” Alice continued. “Perhaps you would like to join us.”

  “That would be appreciated,” Gregg said, slowly lowering his arms.

  The crowd parted to allow Alice through, and I followed along, joined by Gregg and Abigail as I reached the gate to the church grounds. Daniel and a few of the other more competent looking men stayed close behind.

  I kept a careful watch on my surroundings as I walked, and we soon came to an open grassy area set behind the small church. Trees formed a barrier around the area and picnic tables had been set up, for people to sit and eat.

  An open-air grill was set up beside the back wall of the church with a frame that would allow metal pots to be hung over the flames that were fed from the large stack of firewood nearby. Two others were working at the grill, a man, and a woman, and several more people were already seated at the tables, including children.

  “Other here,” Alice said, leading us towards a table set far enough away from the others that we wouldn’t be able to harm anyone before they could stop us. “Please, take a seat and I shall bring you some food.”