Fear the Dead 2 (5 page)

4

Sam Henderson lay under a bedsheet on
the ground. He left behind two girls, four and six years old, and a wife. He
also left a girlfriend and a string of casual one night stands, having made it
his mission to work through as many of the women of Vasey as he could. But
nobody was going to tell the crying widow about that.

I lifted the shovel up high and
heaved it down, breaking through the crust of the soil. The top layer was
cracked with cold and hadn’t been touched for a long time, so breaking through
took a lot of strain.

Weak rays of sun shone over the wall
and illuminated this little-visited part of Vasey, but they weren’t warm enough
to cut through the frosted autumn air. The clouds above me were plump and
tinged concrete-grey.

I turned the shovel and let more mud
fall onto the pile next to me. The hole wasn’t big enough yet, and I wanted to
get this done by sundown. Despite the burning that ran through my muscles, I
lifted the shovel again.

Boots trod on the ground behind me. I
dropped the shovel and turned. It was Moe. He wore a scarf round his neck that
reached up his wrinkled mouth. He planted his heavy boots in the ground and
uncovered his lips.

“This doesn’t make it right,” he
said.

I let the shovel fall. I put my hands
in my pockets so that Moe wouldn’t see them tighten.

“’Scuse me?”

Moe walked over to Sam’s body. He
knelt down and took hold of a corner of the bedsheet. He peeled it back and
revealed the man’s dead body, which we had dressed in the nicest suit we could
find. The pale blue shirt covered up the stab wound on his left pectoral
muscle, but nothing could be done about the hole in his temple. Harlowe hadn’t
made that wound; I’d done it to make sure that Sam never came back. Moe moved
Sam’s sleeve and put a finger to his grey wrist.

“Freezing,” he said.

“Yeah, he’s dead.”

Moe straightened up and his knees
cracked. He looked at me with a flash of anger. “And who do you think they
blame for that?”

Everyone knew that Harlowe had
stabbed Sam, but was it completely his fault? Did you blame the invention of
the nuclear bomb on the guy who pressed the button?
I’d
made the
decision to let him go. If I’d followed the law of the town and killed him,
then he wouldn’t have been able to do this.

A man was dead because of my
stupidity, and now the whole damn town had heard Harlowe talking about the five
hundred thousand infected heading our way. I was going to talk, but Moe cut in.

“I’ve made my decision Kyle. I’m
leaving in two weeks.”

“Look, Moe – “

He shook his head. “It’s done. I’m a
stubborn old bastard, surely you gotta recognise that by now.”

I ran my fingers through my hair,
scratched the back of my head. He was right. Once he made a decision, that was
it.

A snap of wind blew past us. The few
leaves that still clung onto the autumn trees rattled, and a chill brushed
against my skin. The body heat I'd built up by digging seeped out of me, so I
picked up my coat from the floor and slid it on.

Moe put his hand on my shoulder.
Strong grip for an old guy.

“Town meeting’s tonight, ain’t it?”

I nodded.

Every three weeks we met in an old
theatre and discussed the town’s issues. I tried to make it a forum for ideas
and opinions. I wanted to explain the direction we were heading in and to get
the people excited about it. Instead, it usually descended into a bunch of
petty squabbles, into ‘he did this, ‘she did that’ bullshit.

Moe put his hands back into his
pockets. “Tonight I’m gonna tell everyone what I’m doing. I’ll be honest with
you now, Kyle. I don’t agree with you but I respect you, so I owe you that
much.”

He held my stare, and for a few
seconds we didn’t say anything. The wind whispered around us. “Spit it out,” I
said.

He gave a slight nod, closed his eyes
a little. “I’m gonna tell every single person in there that they ought to come
with me. Vasey is finished, and it’s time for pastures new.”

The thought was so ridiculous I would
have laughed were it not for the anger that rose in my chest.

“So you think a couple of hundred of
you are going to survive in the Wilds?” I said. “The stalkers will pick you
off. A few at a time at first, so you might not notice them going missing. But
before long it’ll be fifty, and you’ll start to wonder how the hell you’re
going to get through the nights.”

My face burnt red and my head
throbbed, but I couldn’t stop.

“Just when you get a watch system
figured out, more stalkers will come. They’ll move their nests closer because
they know you’re near. They smell you. They taste you in the air. They’re
faster and stronger than you, and their teeth will tear through your skin.”

Some of the red drained from Moe’s
face, leaving his skin white.

I carried on. “Then whatever the
stalkers leave behind, the infected will finish.”

“So how come they don’t come near
Vasey?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out.
Maybe it’s the walls, I don’t know.”

Somewhere behind us in town, a door
slammed. The sky was darkening, the last channels of sunlight drying up. Moe
stared at Sam’s body for a few seconds, his eyes deep in thought. Then he
turned his head to me.

“You know a lot about surviving,” he
said, “but you don’t know a damn thing about living.”

He walked over to Sam and covered him
up again. “You say you’re planning for the future of these people, but you’re
not prepared to make the hard choices that a leader’s gotta make. This poor sod
here proves that,” he said, and pointed at the bedsheet.

I didn’t say anything. There was no
use persuading Moe right now, he was too stubborn for that. If I was going to
change anyone’s mind, it would have to be the rest of the people at the town
meeting.

Moe wiped his nose, then stuffed his
hands in his pockets and started to walk away. He took a few steps, then looked
back.

“Leaders gotta sacrifice a part of
themselves, Kyle. And I don’t think you got it in you.”

5

The Barbara Shaun Theatre had once been
home to amateur productions of King Lear, Jesus Christ Superstar and Richard
III, but in 2031 it hosted town meetings of Vasey, the biggest known survivor
colony in the North West of England. We discussed things like where to bury
bodies once the Romero Street cemetery got full, and what we were going to do
with sewage to avoid us all catching cholera.

I stood on the stage feeling like
Macbeth, watching all my power slip away. In front of me, set a few feet lower
than the stage, rows of chairs ran all the way back to the entrance.  They
were made from claret-coloured material and most had rips and puncture wounds
with the stuffing hanging out like guts. Before the outbreak the theatre had
been long overdue refurbishment, and the local amdram society had put aside
profits from their productions to meet the funding they needed. The theatre
would never see a facelift now.

Townspeople drifted in and the seats
filled. A quiet chatter grew to a murmur, and soon the whole theatre droned
like a beehive. I scanned the crowd for familiar faces that I could count on
for support. A few smiled back at me, but most averted their eyes.

Dan sat by himself near the back and
didn’t speak to anyone. Every so often he lifted a quarter bottle of whiskey to
his lips and took a sip.
Where had he gotten that?
Did he have a
secret stash?

Faizel was two rows behind him. He
had his little boy on his lap, and his wife, Sana, sat next to him. They held
hands and smiled at each other. The contrast between Faizel and Dan was
remarkable. They both worked for Moe as scouts and often spent weeks together
in the Wilds, but they could not have been any more different.

I looked around the room for Justin,
but his curly hair and lanky body were missing. Surely he wouldn’t let me down
tonight. He must have known how important this meeting was and how much I
needed his support. I didn’t know what was going on with him lately, but he’d
be here.

Soon the theatre was so full that I
couldn’t see the red backs of any of the chairs. A side door opened across the
stage and Moe walked in. He gave me a nod, swung a wave to the crowd and then
took a seat. There were two chairs set on stage - one for me, one for Moe. It
felt like an electoral debate.

I sat across from Moe. Gradually more
faces in the crowd looked up, saw their two most influential people sat down
and ready to address them. The buzz died down.

I took a deep breath. My pulse
hammered, and my stomach felt light as though gravity had been shut off and the
contents were going to fly up my throat. I’d never gotten used to talking to so
many people.

I had to start off strongly. It was
important that I was confident and that I put weight behind my arguments. I had
to persuade the people to trust in me and stay in Vasey.

Moe shifted in his seat. I stood up
before he got chance and addressed the crowd.

“Quiet please people.”

My words echoed up to the rafters,
the acoustics of the theatre designed to carry the volume of voice from the
stage and send it into each corner of the building.

Voices stopped, faces turned. All
eyes were on me and Moe. I bit down on the nerves that fired inside me.

“We all know why we’re here,” I said.

I took a few steps to the front of
the stage, the thuds of my footsteps hammering on the boards.

“This isn’t an ordinary meeting.
We’ve got something important to discuss. And I do mean discuss. This isn’t me
telling you that you have to do something, there are no orders. Everyone’s
opinion is welcome.”

At the back of the room the theatre
door opened. I hoped it was Justin coming to take his empty seat, but it was a
woman. She ducked her head down and shifted across a row, apologising to
everyone who had to move out of her way while she found her seat. I nodded to
Moe.

He stood up and cleared his throat.

“Been a long time since an old fella
like me was up here,” he said. “Last time was probably when I played the skull
in Hamlet.”

He grinned, and a few laughs rose
from the crowd.

My busted leg ached. I could stand on
it less and less these days, as though the onset of winter was making my bones
creak. I didn’t feel like a man in his forties; I was ancient. I grabbed my
chair and pulled it toward the edge of the stage. I sat down and tried to slow
the rushing of my blood.
Come on, Kyle. Be confident. Persuade them.

“We’ve all got a choice to make
today,” I said, trying to send my voice booming across the hall. “You all know
the question, and you know your options.”

Silence. Usually, people chatted with
each other while I talked on stage. They laughed with friends, made jokes.
Today was different.

I carried on. “You know how I feel.
You know what I think of Vasey and our future. The plans we’ve got. The things
we need to do to build a life here.”

To my right, Moe stood up. He dragged
his chair across the stage, cutting my words with the scrape of the metal legs
on the wooden boards.

“And you folks know how I
feel
too. Supplies are running out. All we do is work. We’re surviving, but we ain’t
living,” he said.

A few murmurs in the crowd. Some
heads nodded in agreement. I tried to think of the names of the people
agreeing, but came up blank. Maybe I didn’t know these people as well as I
thought.

“Is it true?” a man shouted in a
scratchy voice. It was an Irish guy in his thirties who hardly ever spoke. He
did the job I gave him on the fields, but never with a smile. I thought his
name might have been Martin. “Is what he said about the infected true?”

This was what everyone wanted to
know. This was why the meeting had the biggest attendance I’d ever seen.
Harlowe had spilled his secret on the square, that half a million infected were
all headed in our direction. Word had spread like thrush, and soon everyone
panicked. They wanted answers today. And I had none.

Moe put his hand on his chest. He
straightened his posture. “I’ve made it no secret that I’m leaving Vasey. And I
know Kyle is going to do his level best to convince you all to stay. But here’s
what I suggest. That we don’t listen. We don’t debate, we don’t talk. We’ve
done enough of that.”

He let a few seconds of silence pass
to emphasise his points. Heads in the crowd nodded. Then he spoke again.

“We’ve had enough tongue wagging. I
say we end this right here right now and put it to the vote.”

At first a few murmurs in the crowd.
Then a man shouted out.

“You’re bloody right!”

Heads nodded and murmurs of agreement
trickled through the rows of people.

Moe had blindsided me. He knew I
wanted to talk this through and rationalise it. He probably knew that I had a
point, so he’d gotten in there first and suggested the vote, because he knew
people had short attention spans. A yes or no vote; leave or stay. 
Without the chance to explain my reasons for staying or to tell them that I
didn’t think the wave of infected existed, it was a vote I was sure to lose.

A grin twisted at the corners of
Moe’s lips as the din around us rose. I gripped the arms of my chairs, did my
best to hold the anger in. It would have been sweet to stand up and smack him
in the face, but if I acted rashly now, I’d lose every single one of these
people.

Moe stood up.

“You all heard Harlowe yesterday. He
was a thief. Scum. A man who deserved to die a thousand times over. But in his
last few seconds of life, he didn’t beg for mercy. He didn’t try to persuade us
to spare him, or curse God for putting him in this mess. Instead, he spoke the
truth.”

I bolted to my feet and winced as I
put my weight on my bad leg. “Hang on a minute. You’re saying that you believe
him? The man who tried to steal from us not once, but twice? The guy who
killed Sam?”

Moe gave a knowing smile, as though
I’d walked right into his trap. He spoke loudly, the twang of his Lancastrian
accent amplified by the acoustics.

“And whose fault is it that he killed
Sam? Who gave him that chance?”

My chest dropped and a fuzzy feeling
ran though my arms and legs. The faces in the crowd turned from nodding
agreement at Moe’s words, to flinches of anger when they looked at me.

They all knew that I’d shown mercy.
Moe had made sure that every damn person was aware that I had gone against the
town law and spared Harlowe’s life, and that by doing so I’d given him the
chance to come back and kill Sam. I was sure that he hadn’t meant to kill him,
but that didn’t mean shit. A man was dead, and they blamed me.

My coffers of confidence were empty,
and the people of Vasey didn’t have enough respect for me to let me draw some
on credit.

Moe puffed up his chest, his arms at
his hips.

“Harlowe told the truth, ladies and
gentlemen. When men think they got a chance at life, they lie. But Harlowe knew
he was a dead man. And in his final words, he warned us of what’s coming. Five
hundred thousand of the fuckers heading our way. They will kill every single
one of you.”

The silence broke. Faces flashed with
panic. People started hurried conversations with the people next to them; their
husbands, wives, friends. Every so often one of them would spin a look at me,
but there was nothing friendly in it.

I needed to do something. I needed
support from somewhere, but looking at the crowed, there was none coming. Who
was going to help me?

Dan? No, he was Moe’s man.

Faizel? I didn’t think he’d tied
himself to Moe despite working for him, but he wasn’t my friend either.

Justin? He was loyal, but I didn’t
know where the hell he was.

This was down to me. I wasn’t an
orator, and I damn sure wasn’t a salesman. But I had to do my best. I had to
sell them the dream, get them to believe in what we were doing here. Vasey was
our only shot at building a life for the survivors, and if we left it, then I
didn’t see any hope.

I tightened my fists until the blood
drained out of them. Took a deep breath and held it in.

“Do you all want to die?”  I
said, my voice springing out against the timber of the roof.

The murmurs dropped.

“Because the second you walk out of
these walls, that’s what’s going to happen. I’ve been out there. How many of
you have been in the Wilds for more than an hour?”

Two hands rose. One was Dan’s, the
other was Faizel’s.

“You’ve lived here too long. You've
been safe so long that you've forgotten what danger is. Out there, there are no
walls keeping the infected away from you. The second you let your guard down,
they’ll tear you to pieces.”

Moe laughed. “He just loves to play
the bogey man. Truth is, ladies and gents, it ain’t as bad out there as you
think. Could a few infected really kill all two hundred of us?”

The amusement dropped off his face.
“Enough of this shit. Let’s vote. I’m heading out in two weeks. I’m going
somewhere where the whiskey flows, there’s enough smokes and there aren’t five
hundred thousand dead bastards marching toward us. If you’re with me, raise a
hand.”

I wanted to speak, to put my argument
across one last time. Hands rose in the air. First a few, but then more, like a
Mexican wave that didn’t end. Soon I stared out at a room full of upturned
palms.

Moe nodded. “Two weeks,” he said.
“And then we go.”