Fear the Reaper Page 4

  “Might wanna wear a mask next time, love.”

  A large woman leant beside the door. She wore a thick coat and jeans with a wool cap on her head and a once white handkerchief wrapped around her face that muffled her voice somewhat.

  “Dose it in vinegar first,” she continued. “It’ll help you get through your business without throwing up and adding to the fucking stink.”

  “Good advice,” I agreed and immediately regretted opening my mouth.

  I could taste it in the back of my throat and it didn’t bear thinking about what I was actually breathing in. The woman beside the door pointed to a curtained off section of the room and I headed that way.

  All of the windows on that floor had been opened wide, which I guessed explained the need for the guards to dress warmly. It was damned cold on a morning. Especially as high up as we were. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to do much for the smell.

  The latrine, it seemed, was a row of tall buckets. There was a stack of toilet rolls on a desk just inside the curtained area and I fought back the urge to vomit up the little food I’d eaten the day before and went about my business as quickly as I could.

  There was no way of washing my hands afterwards and I shuddered at the thought of all the people in that place eating food prepared by people who had the same limited hygiene options. I made a mental note to not eat any food prepared there.

  I gave a nod to the woman beside the door, noting that her ability to withstand the stench was phenomenal and ignored her laughter as I bolted up the stairs. The odour seemed to cling to my clothes and hair and I couldn’t rid myself of it fully. When I walked back into the office, more than one nose twitched and I held back a sigh.

  “Latrine?” Gregg asked and I nodded. He grunted and said, “yeah that smell ain’t leaving you anytime soon.”

  “Great.” I turned to Mark. “Any news?”

  “Alpha-One-Three, confirmed KIA,” he said.

  “Damn. Ferals?”

  “No sign of what killed them,” he said. “Each of them was given the final death anyway.”

  “If it was zombies they would have been feeding,” Gregg said. “Raiders?”

  “Bite marks,” Mark replied.

  “Odd. They want us to join them?”

  “No. Orders are the same.”

  “Right then, gather your gear and let’s get up to the roof.”

  A team of six had been killed. That was worrying, more so if shots had been fired but no bodies had been left behind. That indicated either human raiders who had taken away their dead or wounded, or a group of zombies that was smart enough to not stick around eating and be caught.

  Of course, there was always the chance that it was the long rumoured third type of zombie. The one nobody had actually seen but everyone had heard about. A type of zombie that was smarter than the Ferals and much more dangerous yet had never been encountered.

  It made a fine bogeyman for people to scare each other with but I honestly doubted there was any truth to it. If there was, we’d have encountered them like we had the other zombie types. Of course, logic didn’t stop my squad from looking worried as they had the same thoughts.

  We sat on the roof in silence, listening to the radio chatter and learning nothing new. The other squads were moving through the shipyards on a search and destroy deployment. I was pretty sure they’d find whatever had wiped out that team. Even so, it wasn’t a great start to our assault on Glasgow.

  “Morning, Lou,” Gregg said as Lieutenant Macintosh made his way towards us.

  He had a heavy coat and woollen cap on with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He dug his hands into his pockets and gave an abashed shrug as he saw me studying him.

  “Cold mornings seem to hit me harder these days,” he said.

  “I know what you mean,” I agreed.

  Each of my squad had pulled on the jackets we’d brought with us. They were not military issue, except for Mark and Lars, but they were warm and if we met any more survivors we could send the Marines forward first to represent us.

  “News?” he asked with a tilt of his head towards the radio.

  “Some problems over at the shipyards.”

  “I thought I heard gunfire.”

  “Will be dealt with soon enough,” I assured him. “Transports are still on their way and as soon as our backup arrives, we’ll head into the city.”

  “About that…” he paused and scratched at his stubbled chin. “The Dead… they don’t like us leaving these buildings.”

  Curious.

  “They don’t? Have you tried?”

  “Early on,” he said. “When we first arrived, we ranged around the local area scavenging. When the Dead started to turn up, they appeared wherever we went.”

  “Wait! They didn’t bring you here?”

  “No. We made our way here ourselves. Chose this place as a likely spot you navy bods would come to when you arrived and set up shop.”

  “So, you scavenged, built up this place and went out into the city one day and there they were?”

  “Yeah, that’s about right.”

  “What did they do?” Gregg asked.

  “Nothing,” he admitted. “Just stood there, watching us. If we tried to enter a building, they would step in front of the door. They would block roads and no matter where we went, they seemed to know we were there.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “Just a few at first, but they’ve been growing in number over the last couple of months. Might be as many as thirty or so now.”

  “How did you make contact?” I asked, thinking back to the almost ritualistic greeting when they’d visited the day before.

  “One day, I was out with a group. We were armed and thinking that we’d need to fight them.” He looked a little abashed as he gave a half-shrug of his shoulders. “We were running low on food.”

  “Anyway,” he continued. “We saw them and I stepped forward with my knife raised and one of them spoke. He said, ‘we are the Dead, who speaks for the living.’ Just that.”

  “I take it you stepped up?”

  “Yeah. I said ‘I did’ and got no response. Took me a good five minutes of trying to talk before one of my guys suggested saying, ‘I speak for the living’ and then they began to talk.”

  “To say what?”

  “Just that the city was off limits. They would bring us anything we needed and also any survivors they found.”

  “Then what?”

  “They brought out several boxes packed full of food and said they would bring more. I’m not ashamed to say we took those boxes of tinned food and came straight back here.”

  “You’ve not ventured out since?”

  He shook his head and I shared a look with Gregg. It was decidedly odd behaviour and not at all what I’d been expecting. I figured at the very least they would be running a protection type racket. But the more I heard, the more it sounded like they were taking all the risks for no reward whatsoever.

  “Boats here,” Lars said, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Thanks for that, Lou. If they’re watching it means we probably won’t have to go far before we find them.”

  His face twisted and he shook his head slowly and I thought that perhaps I understood his concern. We could harm their relations and stop the food coming in. Not that they’d need it since we were taking them to the island anyway, but I could at least reassure him.

  “If you go out there you might antagonize them,” he said before I could speak. “If you do that and they stop rescuing people…”

  I hoped he didn’t notice the blush that heated my cheeks. I felt like a total fool that I’d misread him so badly. That wasn’t like me at all, and of course, he’d be concerned about the survivors they brought in and not the food.

  “We’ll not jeopardize that,” I assured him. “Our intention is to make them allies and not enemies.”

  He didn’t seem too sure about that but I was determined not to do anything that would
put the safety of innocent people at risk. If survivors were still making their way to the city I’d need to make some form of arrangement with these Deadmen to ensure they kept coming. No matter the cost.

  “Jennings is here,” Gregg said in a voice low enough that only I could hear it.

  My quad stood to attention as the Captain climbed out of the cage. A tall man, all lean muscle with almost zero body fat on him. I always had the distinct impression that he’d been like that long before the starvation level rations we’d endured at times.

  He kept his hair cut short and his chin clean-shaven. Which was a shame as he had the severe kind of face that would benefit from being given a little character with a beard. His eyes scanned the rooftop and he nodded once.

  Behind him, his squad climbed from the cage. They were all firmly ‘his people’ and in the camp politics we had, that meant they were in the opposite camp to me and mine.

  Well, this should be fun.

  “Morgan,” he said by way of greeting. Not even deigning to use my rank.

  “Captain.”

  “And you are?” he asked Lou.

  “Lieutenant Macintosh, sir. Third East Anglican Regiment,” he replied giving a near perfect salute.

  “Infantry grunt,” Jennings said dismissively. “Get some of your people up here to help unload the boat.”

  “Sir.”

  Lou did a brisk spin on his heel and marched across to the stairwell as though on parade. I hid a grin as he showed off a little for the uppity captain and carefully stilled my expression as Jennings turned his gaze back to me.

  “No need to hang around. You can fill me in as we go,” he said. “Show me these Deadmen of yours.”

  Chapter 6

  There was a distinct chill in the air that almost matched that emanating from Jennings and his team as we descended to the ground in the cage. While he was in charge of me, I still had control of my team so any orders to them would have to go through me.

  I couldn’t decide if he disliked me because I was a woman or because I was a civilian. Perhaps both. It could also simply be because I backed the Admiral in his decision to ensure power remained in the hands of the civilian authorities and not the military.

  Either way, it meant I was about to lead my team into a zombie-filled city with less than reliable backup. Not a great situation, but I put it from my mind and focused on the task at hand.

  Both our teams were outfitted the same way though Jennings only had one marine assigned to him and four civilians. Each of us had a small pack with enough rations for three days, which would be more than enough to keep us going if we were forced to split up or had to hide out for a while.

  Weapons were drawn, poignards only. The sidearms that each of the marines wore were kept securely holstered. The last thing we needed was to fire off a shot and have every damned zombie in the city descend on our location.

  Alongside the poignard, we each had a steel buckler. It wasn’t much to look at, just a circular steel plate that had leather straps bolted to it. Our left arm went through the straps and we had a small shield of sorts, about the size of a dinner plate.

  It wouldn’t do much to stop a bullet, but if someone came at us with a knife or club, we could use it to block an attack, hit out at our enemy or in most interactions with the zombies, we could push them back while protecting our hands and arms and strike out with the poignard.

  The inspiration had come from history. The Roman legions who would stand in formation, lock shields together and jab at their enemies with short sword or spear. We couldn’t lock shields, but once in line we could brace ourselves and push back against the zombies while stabbing the crap out of them.

  Results had been good for the few times we’d used it and while the Admiral had plans to make larger versions, for our small assault and recon teams, the buckler would be a little more versatile.

  No matter how much I thought about it though, I couldn’t stop thinking of how bizarre it was that in the age of nuclear weapons and jet planes, we had fallen back to using small shields and spiked metal to kill our enemies.

  “Marshall, Boyes. Take point,” Jennings said and two of his team detached themselves from the group and jogged ahead. We followed after them.

  The open ground between the buildings was clear save for weeds and the discarded rubbish of a fleeing populace. In the distance, between some trees, I could make out a road packed with cars and vans. Whether from an attempt at fleeing or just abandoned because the city traffic was a nightmare, I couldn’t say.

  Boyes, the marine, paused at the corner of the building and peered into the alleyway between them. He gave the move up signal, fingers spread, arm moving slowly towards the alley and then ducked into it as we trooped after him.

  We moved in silence. Our gear packed and buckled down in such a way as to make little noise as we moved. Anything that could jangle or bang against something else, was fixed so that it wouldn’t. Our aim was to ensure we brought no inadvertent attention to ourselves. As we entered the mouth of the alley, I suspected that it wouldn’t matter.

  All along the length of the alley, hidden from the view of those on the buildings we’d just left, were mounds of bodies. Zombies, one and all. They had been killed with minimal fuss, a single blow to the skull the most common, and dumped unceremoniously in heaps beside the building.

  “Someone’s been busy,” Gregg muttered and received a glare from Jennings in return.

  We made our cautious way down the alley, keeping a careful watch on the piled dead. While we were pretty sure they wouldn’t be any playing possum, it was just a generally good idea to not let your guard down.

  Unease gripped me as I stared at the piled corpses. It was like a scene out of one of those old documentaries about the Holocaust. I had to ask myself, who could be capable of killing so many zombies, and any answer I came up with just worried me.

  Jinx paused to sniff at the bodies and I shared a grimace with Gregg. She had a tendency to see the dead as just another source of food and some of our newer companions had not quite grown used to that yet. Fortunately, she gave a soft, ‘whuf’ of breath as shook her head and trotted after us without bothering the bodies.

  The next street was much the same and the one after that. Piled bodies of the dead slowly rotting away. There were signs of small animals feeding on them too which raised the hairs on the back of my neck. The growing rat population was a problem.

  Several streets away from Lou’s buildings, we encountered a small group of undead. Shamblers only for which I was grateful as I’d not tested my new weapons on a Feral. At a signal from Jennings, we formed into a line that extended the width of the street, as Boyes and Marshall jogged back to join us.

  A moan rose from the zombies, the sound echoing from the buildings around us. There was nothing we could do about that though except hope that it wasn’t heard by any others in the area.

  As they approached, making their slow, stumbling steps, we each raised our left arms, bent at the elbow so that our forearms were held before our chests, the steel plate facing towards the enemy. Then we waited.

  I tightened my grip on the hilt of my poignard, wishing for a moment that I could put it down and wipe the sweat from the palm of my hands. Then they were on us. Arms raised, they slammed into our bucklers as we braced ourselves, swaying back a little from the force of their bodies hitting our arms but holding steady.

  My poignard stabbed out, the hardened steel point piercing the first zombie's skull with ease. It collapsed without a sound and another took its place. My arm moved rhythmically, stab forward, then back, then forward again.

  Jinx stayed by my feet, biting and tearing at any that got too close. She knew, somehow, that she couldn’t do more than that without getting in our way.

  Not every hit was a kill, but that didn’t matter. As their hands pulled at our clothes, they couldn’t get close enough to sink their teeth into our flesh. One of Jennings men swore as blood flowed from his cheek and his sq
uad-mate stabbed out with his weapon, killing the zombie that had scratched him.

  Then it was over and silence fell around us once more. We each listened for sounds of more of them approaching for several tense minutes before Jennings finally gave the signal to stand down.

  Jennings squad medic pulled the man with a scratch on his cheek to one side. He pulled a bottle of gauze and some antiseptic from his pouch and cleaned the scratch with a brisk efficiency.

  “All good?” Jennings asked.

  “FFI, Captain,” the medic said and he grunted an acknowledgement.

  “FFI?” Gregg whispered and I rolled my eyes at him. He responded with a grin of his own and a slight shrug.

  “Free from infection,” I whispered back. “You need to pay more attention.”

  “Military jargon’s not my thing.”

  “Quieten down,” Jennings snapped as the medic taped the gauze over the soldier’s cheek and put away his supplies. “Back to it.”

  Boyes and Marshall took off again, jogging ahead to take the lead. We set off once more in silence. I glanced back at the dead zombies and smiled grimly.

  While not perfect, it worked. I’d suggested a face covering and while the Admiral had taken it into consideration he had ultimately rejected it.

  “People will need to see that we are there to save them, to help them. We can’t do that if our faces are hidden,” he’d said and I’d finally agreed.

  But once back with the fleet, I’d make my recommendation again. Shamblers and Ferals might not always carry the infection on their gore covered hands, but the Ferals fingers had formed claws of sorts and they could do a great deal of damage. You only had to look at Gregg to see that.

  The next few streets were silent and empty of all but the piles of bodies. I began to wonder just how many zombies these Deadmen had killed in the months they’d been in the city. It was clear they were working to ensure the route to and from Lou’s buildings was kept zombie-free.