Killing the Dead (Book 8): Dark and Deadly Land Read online

  “Doesn’t make them any less dangerous,” Becky said with a frown as she studied the rest of us. She seemed to have noticed it too.

  “More dangerous than us?” he asked and an involuntary shiver went down my spine as his hand reached down touched the hilt of his knife, an unconscious gesture. I almost felt sorry for the people that would die this day.

  “On that note,” Pat said. “I think it’s time we left.”

  I rose with them and gave Ryan a brief hug. He responded by wrapping his arms around me for all of five seconds which was nice and a clear indicator that he might be starting to get used to being affectionate in public.

  He gave my hand a squeeze before he left and I sank back down beside my friends. Worry filled me and I had the terrible feeling that I had just said goodbye to him for the last time.

  Chapter 17 - Ryan

  In principle, the task would be simple. Go in, kill enough of the people there to allow Lily and the others to drive the bomb in, then scarper and let it explode. I had no real belief that it would be that simple.

  We left our backpacks at the warehouse since we didn’t intend to be gone so long and the weight would just slow us down. All we had were our wits and our weapons. Against a bunch of civilians, we’d have no problem. Jinx had been chained up at the warehouse. As useful as she could be, we needed stealth and I didn’t want to risk her bringing attention to us.

  One of the Haven people opened the gate just wide enough for us to slip through. Gregg gave him a questioning look and he shrugged apologetically.

  “Something was out there last night. Got everyone nervous.”

  “What do you mean by something?” Gregg asked and received another shrug in reply.

  “Jones reckoned something was out there watching the gate,” the man said. “Freaked him out a fair bit.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck raised and I looked around. Along the wall of containers and beyond that, amongst the holiday caravans that were parked up beyond the fenced in estate. Nothing was moving, even the seagulls and other vermin were avoiding being out in the rain.

  Even so, I couldn’t help but think back to the Feral that had been following us. The one I suspected had one eye and seemed to be holding a grudge against me. It wasn’t impossible for it to have found us again.

  When we’d last seen it we’d been headed north and then turned straight west to the coast. If it followed us that far, the only way it could go was either north up the coast as we had or south. If it had come north, then eventually it would have arrived here.

  “Aye well, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Gregg said as he waved farewell to the man on guard duty, then we were out of the compound and stood on the slick tarmac as the gate closed behind us with a clang.

  I shared a look with my friends as I pulled free my blade. It would be held ready for anything to come while we were out and I was pleased to see they had their clubs in hand. I set off walking and they took up position on either side of me, just a pace behind to form a triangle. Alert for any threat.

  Grey skies above us left the world covered in gloomy shadows. The only sound we could hear other than the distant moan of the undead beyond the wall, was the patter of rain hitting the road.

  We passed alongside the fenced-in estate, moving almost silently in an effort to avoid notice. There would be time for killing and I wanted to waste no energy on the pointless task of slaying the undead unless I really needed to.

  The road we walked along led roughly north-east for a few hundred metres before turning to our right, almost straight east. We carried on along it, the housing estate at our back and wide fields empty but for grass to either side of us.

  A short distance beyond the houses, the road split. On our left it headed north-west back towards the town and if we carried straight along, it went through a caravan park. Since the majority of those caravans should have been empty for the winter by the time the world went to hell, it was a fair bet that we could pass through unmolested.

  Despite that, a sense of unease had me in its grip. By the wary looks of my friends, they felt something similar. I tightened my grip on the hilt of my knife.

  We walked past the main office, a drab single story building that would hold little of interest and turned the corner of that building to follow the grey tarmac through the park. It was then we had the first sign that the apocalypse had visited that park too.

  The caravans were arranged in rows, the front end of each pointing on to the road which allowed the side doors to open onto wooden decking and grass, rather than the road itself. Several of the caravans had apparently had long term guests and the signs of their deaths were everywhere, though the zombies themselves were not.

  “I don’t like this,” Gregg muttered as we passed yet another caravan with door hanging open exposing the interior to the elements. Smears of something dark could be seen around those doors and in more than one case along the side, as though someone had been dragged away bodily.

  Another caravan had shattered glass and torn curtains flapping against the outside. Most of the small squares of glass littered the grass verge beside the road which told me that it was broken from the inside to allow something out.

  Towards the far end of the caravan park was an ambulance. Its rear doors hanging open and various pieces of medical emergency equipment lay around it. I glanced at my companions and moved forward to investigate.

  “Must have been from right at the beginning,” Pat said as he followed me with a wary glare to either side.

  “I remember,” Gregg agreed. “People were being attacked all over the country and when the paramedics arrived, they were attacked in turn.”

  “Must have missed that,” I said as I spied something amongst the scattered equipment that could be useful. I scooped down and picked a few items up before stuffing them into the pocket of my coat. No real idea if I would use them but the faintest beginning of an idea began to stir.

  “How could you miss it?” Gregg asked as he pawed through the various medicine bottles. “Was all over the news.”

  “I had little interest in watching the news or any other programme. My interests lay elsewhere.”

  “Whatever mate, it was happening and just one of the signs everything was going to shit.”

  “Quiet,” Pat hissed and we both looked to him.

  He was stood beside the grass verge with his head cocked to one side as though straining to hear something over the rain and wind. I glanced at Gregg who shrugged to indicate he didn’t hear anything either.

  “That way, run,” Pat said as he set off between the caravans.

  Without hesitation we followed and just as I passed between the ambulance and the nearest caravan, I heard it. The faintest sound carried on the wind, the moan of the undead.

  We ran as far as the eastern edge of the camp and stopped beside the six-foot high hedge that acted as a barrier between the camp and the fields beyond. There was no way to climb it and hidden amongst the dense branches was a mesh fence.

  With no other choice, we set off to our right, following the hedge as we looked for a way through. It would be utterly humiliating to have to turn back and leave the camp through the front gate to find another way around. Not to mention how much extra time that would take.

  If we even could, I thought as the moans grew louder, seemingly coming from behind the caravans and moving closer. Judging by the sounds there were more than a just a few of them and I wasn’t sure how well we would do against a large number.

  Small groups were no problem anymore and larger groups were fine when constrained by the narrow country roads we’d been using. They couldn’t get around us and they would frequently get in their own way in their haste to devour us.

  In an open space, with just the three of us, I could easily imagine fifteen or more would be a major problem and from experience, that low moans I could hear indicated more than that.

  “There’s a gap,” Gregg c
alled just as something behind us let out a roar of hunger. I glanced back to see the first zombie had moved around the caravan and seen us.

  “Feral,” I snarled as I recognised the greying skin and absence of any real sign of decay.

  “Oh hell,” Gregg said as a veritable horde of undead followed the first around the side of the caravan behind us.

  We ran. There was little else we could do since staying to face that large a group would have likely seen us dead. Behind us, the horde gave chase. A quick glance back over my shoulder showed what seemed to be one Feral moving smoothly through the crowd, as the rest stumbled and pushed against each other in their desire to reach us.

  As soon as we hit the gap in the hedge I realised we were still in trouble. Open fields stretched away before us for quite a distance. No way we could hide or keep running. From the looks on the faces of my friends, they had realised the same.

  “We can fight here,” Pat said. “Only a couple can come through the gap at one time.”

  “Take up positions then,” I agreed as I stepped between them.

  They’d have the greater reach with their clubs than I did with just the two knives I possessed. Besides which, only one of those knives would be effective against the undead so I kept the folding blade in my pocket and held the combat knife ready.

  Pat struck first as the undead arrived. A skull cracked and a body fell to the ground to create yet another barrier for the others to get past. Then the next five minutes became a blur of thrashing limbs, the spray of cold, dark blood and a familiar weariness in my arm as I struck repeatedly at the mass of zombies.

  More fell but to my alarm, the hedgerow at either side of the gap began to bulge outwards as the creatures pushed against them. I sank my knife into the skull of a zombie with half its face already missing and stepped back.

  As I looked first to my left, then right. I could see that all along the hedge, sections were bulging outwards as the zombies pushed against it. Then an arm appeared, thrust through the tightly woven branches and a chill ran through me.

  “Time to leave,” I said and Pat looked back, a question in his eyes. He saw the direction I was looking and followed my gaze in time to see the Feral’s head push through the hedge, following its arm. Deep scratches marred its skin but didn’t seem to bother it at all.

  “Oh crap,” he said as he swung one last time at a zombie that fell to add to the growing barrier of bodies at our feet.

  For the second time that day, we ran. Out across the open field of mud and grass. No doubt leaving a trail a blind man could follow. We’d barely gone a hundred metres when I glanced back and saw the first handful of zombies were through the barrier and on our trail. The chase was on.

  Chapter 18 - Lily

  The boat rocked whenever I shifted my weight on the seat so I did my best to remain as still as possible as we seemed to almost fly over the rough waves, barely touching them.

  Bess had called it an RIB which was short for Rigid Inflatable Boat. She’d explained in more detail than asked for, that the flexible tubes that made up the sides and bow, contained pressurised gas. The floor was entirely too flexible fabric that seemed to dip alarmingly whenever I put my weight on it and the rear of the boat was rigid which allowed for an outboard motor to be attached.

  At barely six feet in length, it just about fit the three of us and Bess who steered the craft, her rifle held casually in her lap. A chilling reminder that we weren’t quite trusted. I’d no doubt the cantankerous old woman would shoot anyone who tried to steal the boat from her.

  Not that we would, but even if that thought had occurred, our belongings including the samples and data Becky had carried all this way, were back at the compound. We wouldn’t be stealing the boat, we’d accomplish the task we’d been given and then receive payment in the form of transport across the bay.

  I just hoped that would be in a larger and more stable craft than the inflatable boat I was currently in.

  “Isn’t the Isle of Man near here?” I asked Bess, raising my voice to be heard over the drone of the motor.

  “It is.”

  “What’re the conditions like over there?”

  “Same as everywhere else, shite.”

  “That’s overrun too then,” I said sourly. It was one more blow that suggested the world was in a worse state than I’d imagined.

  I’d hoped that some of the islands off of the coast had survived and communities still lived there. I guess I was wrong.

  “From what we could tell,” Bess said. “They survived the initial infection.”

  “Oh?”

  “The problems came when refugees from Ireland and along the coast here, arrived there in a great swarm.”

  “They brought the infection?”

  “More the fact that the population almost doubled overnight,” Bess said. She glanced back over her shoulder as though able to see across those grey seas to the Isle we spoke about. “Islanders hoarded their food and resentment bred. Fights broke out, followed by murders and eventually riots.”

  “How do you know this?” Becky asked, sceptical as always.

  “My sister lived over that way,” the older woman replied with a finality to her tone that suggested we shouldn’t press. “Most of us knew people over there and kept in touch over the radio. It was our fall back plan to head there if we needed to leave Haven.”

  “Even with all that,” she continued. “Things might have settled down. Order was being restored and then it happened.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Bloody cruise ship, that’s what.”

  “A cruise ship?”

  “Yeah, three thousand infected people ran aground on the southern end of the island.”

  Her voice was flat even above the noise of the engine and I could almost feel the pain she was holding back.

  “We got to listen as town after town on the Isle fell. So many refugees crammed together didn’t help matters and… it just spread so bloody quickly.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said quietly though the words had little real meaning anymore. We’d all lost so much to the plague of the undead that covered the land.

  We sat in silence for the rest of the trip, the only sound the drone of the engine and the occasional call of the gulls as they wheeled overhead.

  I watched the coast pass by and imagined what it would have been like without the zombies dotted along the shore. I pulled my jacket close and tightened the hood around my face as the salt spray and the rain fought to be the first to drench me.

  Our part in the plan was simple but also incredibly dangerous, perhaps even more so than Ryan and the other guys. They would go and clear out the people there, a tough and risky task no doubt but less so than driving a van with a bomb in the back, to the factory where they would be.

  In short time, the boat glided to a stop against a pebble covered beach and I leapt out, my feet sinking into the freezing cold water of the Irish Sea. I had a sudden regret for wearing jeans which would never dry in the miserable weather we were having, and would leave me damp and uncomfortable all day.

  “Up the beach,” Bess called out. “Top of the hill’s a blue van. Ethan gave you the keys?”

  “Aye,” Cass replied as she touched the pocket on her coat that held them.

  “It’s all wired up, the detonator is on top. Flick the switch and the timer will start so run like fuck.”

  “Great,” I muttered as I waded through the waves. Each step was a struggle to stay upright as the heavy waves pushed at the backs of my legs.

  Once we were all shivering, wet and miserable ashore. Bess set off to return to Haven. She didn’t look back at us and her meaning was clear. We were on our own and the only way back was to complete the mission we’d been given.

  I hefted the club in my hand, noting the notches and stains in the wood. I forced a few deep breaths as the reality of what I may have to do came to me.

  “No po
int standing here ladies,” Becky said with forced cheer. “May as well get moving.”

  We crossed the beach, our feet crunching against the pebbles and I raised a faint smile as the memory came to me of the last such beach I had walked across, holding hands with my dad as he led me to rock pools to see what wonderful creatures we could find.

  It had been a different time and the sun had beat down upon us. He’d been a great dad and a good man who so willingly gave up his time to help others. He’d passed away just a few years ago and I was glad he’d been spared the horrors of the end of the world.

  He hadn’t been a weak man, but he’d had no interest in hurting others. I owed much of who I was, the person I was, to him. He would have hated everything Ryan was and would have seen him to be the absolute polar opposite of himself. But he’d have respected my decision much as he’d always done. God, I missed him.

  “You okay?” Cass asked as I wiped at my face. Not all of the moisture there was from the rain.

  “Yah, I’m good.”

  “This is crazy. Driving around with a bomb in the van.”

  “Needs to be done,” I said. “So few options for us and we’re almost at Scotland. Our goals’ in sight and to be honest, it’s probably a damn sight safer than trying to get through Carlisle.”

  “Maybe,” she said as we began the climb up the steep trail away from the beach.

  The ground was slick mud from the rain and I spent far too much time gripping tufts of grass as I practically hauled myself along. Every other step I would slip back down, hands reaching for something to hold on to and then I’d push on. Ever upwards.

  After a great deal more time than I’d have preferred, we reached the top of the rise. Despite the view of the ocean, there was little else there besides fields, trees in the distance and a car park empty but for a blue transit van with the name of a plumbers merchants on the side.

  Strong winds tugged at our clothes as we crossed the open space to the van. I did a quick circuit to make sure it was safe and gestured for Cass to climb into the driver’s seat. As much as I’d prefer to drive, at some point, we would need to get out and clear the way. I’d much rather Cass and her unborn child stayed safely in the van while Becky and I did the unpleasant work.