Fear the Reaper Page 2

  It didn’t seem like they were preparing for an assault by the zombies and I was more than a little curious about what had so scared him and his people.

  At the other side of the next building’s roof, was another bridge. Built like the first, a simple frame that spanned the gap between the buildings with wooden planks for you to walk on. A human could hold onto the railings as they crossed and I worried about Jinx, but she just crossed without any concern.

  Two more people, a man and a woman were apparently on sentry duty on the roof of the third building. They stood beside a crane that had a cage hanging beneath it, much like the one that we had ridden to the top of the first building. This one though descended to an open plaza and not the river.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as I joined Lieutenant Macintosh at the edge of the building.

  “They’re coming,” he said without looking my way.

  “Zombies?”

  “No,” he said. Just that one single word as he stared down at the ground below.

  There was an uneasiness about him that disturbed me. I gripped the handle of my poignard and half pulled if from the rough leather sheath at my belt. It was the weapon of choice for the army that Admiral Stuart was building.

  Ten inches of steel that tapered to a deadly point. It had a wide cross guard that would protect the hand and was perfect for stabbing into the skulls of the undead in close quarters. It had been mass produced at the Admirals orders specifically for the assault on the city and made from the limited resources we had.

  Where gunfire would quickly see you overwhelmed, the poignard was silent and able to be used in tight formation. We’d used them well on the few training excursions we’d taken and they were just the start of an arsenal that would be made specifically for the undead. Which was another reason we needed the resources of the city.

  Of course, I hadn’t imagined I’d be sixteen storeys above my enemy when I figured on using it.

  “There,” Lieutenant Macintosh said softly as he pointed down at the ground.

  From between two buildings they came. A group of people marching purposefully towards us. The Lieutenant gestured and the cage began to descend as two burly men wound the handles on either side of the crane.

  “How many can that hold?”

  “Fifteen, sixteen maybe.”

  It seemed like an eternity as we waited in silence for the group of people below to climb into the cage. Then the Lieutenant gestured and the men turned the handles once more. The cage rising slowly towards us.

  “Spread out,” he ordered. “Make some damned room and get ready.”

  I pulled my poignard free and gestured for the rest of my squad to do the same as we moved away from the edge of the roof. The Lieutenant and his people weren’t armed but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  Whoever they were, they scared the crap out of the survivors we’d found. That meant one thing. They were bad people. Likely raiders who had established themselves in the area and required payment of some sort. That was not something I would stand for.

  As the cage rose to the edge of the roof, I wondered if I were right. Five figures in black stepped off first. Their outfits were made of leather, the kind of bodysuits that a biker would wear. Thick leather gloves covered their hands and they each wore a black cloth hood that covered their face entirely save for a thin slit for their eyes.

  Their weapons were uniformly knives that they wore strapped to their belts. Not a single one of them was without multiple scratches and abrasions on their leather outfits. They looked every bit like the raider I imagined and I would have prepared to fight but for the others.

  Seven people climbed from the cage behind them. Ragged and weary, covered in dirt and blood. Two of them were barely into their teens and looked at us with terror in their eyes. They were clearly not raiders and I glanced at the Lieutenant as I waited for something to happen.

  “Who speaks for the Dead?” he asked and I looked quizzically at Gregg who shrugged back at me.

  “I speak for the Dead.”

  The burly figure in the centre stepped forwards. His eyes moved from each of us and I saw nothing in them. No malice, no hate, no empathy or curiosity. They were empty.

  “What brings the Dead to this place?” the Lieutenant asked.

  “We return to you the living,” was the reply from the lead figure and at a sharp gesture from one of the others, the seven-scared people started to move.

  They walked over to the women who were waiting and accepted the blankets and water they were given. I looked at Suraya and tilted my head towards them. She nodded and hurried forward opening her medical satchel.

  “We thank you for their safe return.”

  Without a reply, the five men in black turned and climbed back into the cage. Before the lieutenant could give the order though, one of the ragged survivors stepped away from the others.

  “Wait!” she said and wilted slightly as all eyes turned to her.

  “You don’t want to do this,” Lieutenant Macintosh said sadly.

  “I do,” she said. “My family… my children…”

  She took a hesitant step towards the five figures in the cage and stopped when one of them held up his hand and I realised it was the speaker of before.

  “Are you living or dead?” he asked.

  “I’m…” she hesitated, looking back at those she had arrived with. At the men and women gathered there offering blankets and solace. “I’m not alive. Not really.”

  “Are you sure you know what this means?” The Lieutenant asked though he didn’t move to stop her.

  “Y-yes, I think so.”

  “Then we shall mourn you as we thank you for your sacrifice,” he said as though speaking the words of some ritual.

  She nodded, her face going still and then climbed into the cage beside the others. They didn’t speak to her, nor did they reach out and embrace her as one of their own. Instead, one of them pulled a knife from his belt and passed it to her.

  The cage began to descend and as though a spell had broken I stepped towards the Lieutenant.

  “What just happened? Who the hell were they?”

  “They are the Dead,” he said simply.

  “Yeah, I gathered. What does that mean?”

  “They live out in the city and gather up any survivors. When they do find them, they bring them here.”

  “How many survivors would there be after a year?” Gregg asked.

  “More and more every day,” the Lieutenant said. “Mostly because they heard your message. The one saying you were coming and that they should prepare for rescue. A rescue we’ve been waiting three months for.”

  “That message said to stay where they were until the city was cleared.”

  “These people are starving and traumatised. They hear that help is on the way and they set off running to meet it. Most of the poor bastards don’t realise just how many undead are still in this city.”

  “So, they come into the city and what? Get caught by these ‘Dead’ people and then what?“

  “They bring them to us. Some of them will decide that they will join them, but many more stay with us. We had less than a hundred people when we arrived and our numbers keep growing because of the people the Deadmen bring in.”

  “What does it cost?” Gregg asked. “What do you have to pay them for this? Food, supplies? Women?”

  Lieutenant Macintosh glanced at us, consternation on his face as he shook his head.

  “No. They don’t take anything from us. How do you think we survive here? They bring us food and other things. Usually, if we ask for something, they will find it and it will appear down there. The most danger we have is when we go down to get it.”

  “Then I don’t understand. Who are they and why are they doing this?”

  “They are the Dead. Or that’s how they see themselves at least and for them, the only reason to continue is to kill the undead and help the living stay alive.”

  The lieutenant
turned away, moving towards the gathered survivors and checking on each of them in turn as he offered words of comfort and reassurance. I watched him for several minutes, utterly confused by what I’d just seen.

  “Messed up, huh?” Gregg said and I nodded slowly.

  “We need to report this to the Admiral. He’ll want to know about them. And I need to talk to these people.”

  “Boats won’t arrive till tomorrow at the earliest. These people are going to be here for a few weeks yet.”

  “I still need to be certain.”

  “What makes you think he’ll be here?”

  “I don’t,” I said with a catch in my voice that he was sure to have heard. “But I have to hope that he heard my message and understood.”

  “Cass told you not to get your hopes up and I’m telling you the same.”

  “I know,” I said with a soft touch on his arm. “And I appreciate it.”

  “There was a reason he left. You know that. What makes you think that even if he is here, he’ll be the same man we knew?”

  “Hope,” I said softly. “It’s all I have.”

  He nodded slowly and patted my arm gently before he moved away. He’d go amongst the people gathered there and talk with them. He’d hate it, showing his face to so many new people, but he’d do it because he was my friend.

  The Admiral wanted to save as many people as possible and the three hundred plus survivors we had just found was a good start. Those others though, the Deadmen. They could be a group of allies that seemed to have the freedom of the city or they could be a problem. If so many survivors had heard our messages, then so too would the raiders.

  From the little we’d heard from the groups we managed to contact, raiders had become a serious problem. While many still tried to help one another, too many had run out of supplies and with little way to gather more with all the undead out there, had turned on the living.

  I crossed over to where Lieutenant Macintosh was talking to the newest additions to his community and I waited patiently for him to finish and notice me. When he did, he pushed himself to his feet and sighed.

  “No doubt you want an explanation.”

  “That would be nice, yeah.”

  “Come on then, we’ll get these poor souls inside and grab a drink. Then I’ll tell you what I know and you can tell me about your own group of survivors.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’d really like to know how you came to be here.”

  “Oh, that was easy. Some madman blew up our last home and we had nowhere else to go,” he said with a laugh.

  Chapter 3

  The first thing that came to me as I descended the stairs into the interior of that first building, was the smell. I tried to hide my grimace without much success and the rest of my squad had mixed responses.

  Lars mouth twisted as though he’d tasted something unpleasant, while Suraya coughed delicately into one hand before reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief that she could press against her mouth and nose.

  Mark pulled a face and muttered beneath his breath while Gregg took it all in with equanimity. Unlike the two soldiers, he’d endured far worse odours in the months we’d travelled together.

  “Sorry about that,” Lieutenant Macintosh said. “It’s easy to forget how bad it is. You get used to it in time.”

  “No problem,” I said with a kind smile. “Can’t expect it’s been easy on you all.”

  I could taste the foul odour in the back of my mouth and I forced my face to become still, to not show just how badly it was affecting me. I’d been out amongst the undead, I’d found myself covered in their gore and still, I would have preferred their odour to that of the mass of survivors.

  In such a confined space, the stench of unwashed bodies mixed with the smells of cooking food from the improvised kitchen area over by the windows. Clothing, bedding and the people themselves were in need of a good wash.

  “Most of the bathrooms stopped working a long time ago,” he said with a delicate cough. “We tend to use one of the floors below as a latrine area.”

  “Shitting in a bucket,” Lars said. “Like being back in the fucking desert.”

  “Iraq?” the Lieutenant asked and the other soldier nodded. “Well, at least there you had plenty of sand to cover your waste. The best we can do is to empty it out the windows.”

  “Well, no one ever said the end of the world would be comfortable,” I said and turned to look at Gregg. “You lot spread out. Suraya, see if anyone needs medical attention.”

  “Yes, sir. Erm, Ma’am, sorry.”

  “Lars, you start gathering names and skills, you know the drill.”

  “Aye,” he said with a salute and broke away from the rest of us.

  “I know what I need to do,” Gregg said quietly and followed after Lars as I flashed him a grateful smile.

  “Mark, radio the fleet. I want them updated on these Deadmen and the situation here. The sooner we can get these people evacuated the better for everyone.”

  Lieutenant Mac watched me in bemused silence and I smiled sheepishly as I realised that I’d just essentially taken over completely.

  “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologise. You have a mission to complete after all and I am not part of your forces. If I may ask, what rank do you actually hold?”

  “Technically, I’m a lieutenant,” I said.

  “Technically?”

  “This is kind of new for us all, the Admiral is re-structuring as he goes. Basically, those of us in the Civilian arm of the fleet hold equivalent ranks to the naval officers. At least when not on board.”

  “Ah, I understand. On the ship, they are in charge.”

  “Yes.”

  He had a thoughtful expression on his face as he gestured for me to follow him and then set off through the crowd of people surrounding us. The top floor, it seemed, was used as a kitchen and dining area.

  Numerous desks had been pushed together to form rough dining tables and buckets of used dishware and cutlery were gathered beneath the windows next to the cooking set up. I had no idea what had happened to all the computers and office equipment that must have filled the open plan office.

  “We filter the river water as best we can,” Lieutenant Macintosh said as he noted my curious look. “Most of it goes for drinking but we can spare some for washing the dishes.”

  He waved towards the desks that had been pushed up against the far wall. On each of them was either a camping stove or an electric grill. I was confused by that for a moment until I noted the stacked car batteries beneath the desk and realised someone was using them to power the grills.

  “Gas bottles and a jerry-rigged power pack,” I said. “Isn’t that a little unsafe?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “We have plenty of fire extinguishers and we’ve been fortunate not to actually need to use them. We’re careful.”

  “I imagine you’d need to be.”

  “As you can guess, we can only filter so much water at a time so cleaning ourselves is low on the list of things to do. We use plain river water to clean out the latrine buckets and it’s become a full-time job to gather water.”

  “Do you get out into the city itself?”

  “No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “The Dead discourage that and to be honest, I don’t want to lose any more of my people. Ah, here we are.”

  He pulled open the door to an office and waved me forward. I entered cautiously, hand gripping the hilt of my poignard, just in case.

  “You won’t need that weapon in here,” he said as he noted my movement. “No one here would risk the chance of rescue.”

  As much as I was willing to believe him, I’d seen too much to relax my guard fully. Even so, I sat down on the chair as he took the seat behind the desk.

  “A little formal perhaps,” he said with a smile as he clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on the desk. “I have a lot of questions for you.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Your lo
adout,” he said and nodded towards my sheathed weapon when I gave him a confused look. “And your uniform.”

  “What about it?”

  “It seems a little… lacking.”

  I smiled at that as I’d said much the same thing but at the end of the day, had realised that we had little choice. I settled back in the chair and considered my words. Judging from the scepticism on his face, he wasn’t quite ready to believe we were actually the saviours he was hoping for.

  “The Royal Naval Fleet consists of forty-four ships. Only two of which are actually Destroyers,” I said and watched as his face fell. “The rest are a mixed bag of independent boats.”

  “So few.”

  “Understandably, equipment is limited. Admiral Stuart was adamant that every one of us on this initial assault force was to wear the fatigues at the minimum. Unfortunately, items such as jackets and caps were few and far between. As cold as it is, we have some warmer coats with our gear in the boats but for first contact, he insisted our uniforms be visible.”

  “I see.” He nodded thoughtfully, eyes distant for a moment before pointing one finger at my belt. “And the weapons?”

  “Each squad has at least one Marine. The other five members include someone to pilot the boat, a civilian medic and three of the new Civilian Defence Force, CDF for short.”

  “You have two marines.”

  “You recognised that huh? Yeah, the admiral gave in when they insisted but told them two was the limit.”

  “They insisted?”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t really want to talk about it, or about how I’d had a dozen marines wanting to form my squad. “The weapons are, again, limited. Each of the marines carries a sidearm that is for emergency use against the undead only or if we encounter raiders.”

  I tapped the handle of the poignard on my belt.

  “In the boat, we have a buckler, that is a small shield of hardened steel. Once strapped to the arm we can use it to push back against the undead while the poignard is used to stab into the skull.”