Savage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel (18 page)

A
gathering of crows took
flight.  The carcass on the road looked like it had belonged to a fox, but
it was difficult to tell for sure in the glaring headlights.  Animals
didn’t concern the dead, and as a result there were more foxes, badgers, and
rats than ever before.  They made good eating if you could catch them, but
they’d become increasingly brave in the new world and quite often carried
disease.  A light scratch from a feral cat could fester and rot.  It
was easier to forage than to hunt.

Garfield studied the picture Poppy had drawn for
him.  It was impressively realistic; every time he looked at it he noticed
additional details.  In addition to the family of moorhens in the
foreground, there were fireflies hovering above the pond and a stalk wading in the
background.  Just like Poppy had hoped, it cheered him up looking at
it. 
She’s such a sweet thing.  I really hate being away from her
so long.  I wonder what she’s up to.

Garfield missed Poppy and the pier.  It was the
longest he’d ever been away since they’d first come upon it.  The further
away he got from it, the worse things seem to get.

Things amongst the foragers were tense after
two-and-a-half days on the road.  They had stuck to the fields and
farmland, which meant the scenery was bland and samey.  The many hours of
travelling had left them weary, depressed, and irritable.  Danny and
Squirrel dying three hours ago had just made things worse. 
Those careless fools.

Danny and Squirrel had been at the pier since the
beginning, having originally discovered the place with Alistair, Anna, and a
few others who’d stumbled upon each other on the south coast.  The two
young men were well liked and brave, an important part of the group. 
Garfield hated to say it, but they were also stupid.

Squirrel had been a dope smoking benefit-seeker in the
old days, and his ambitions became no greater once the world had ended. 
Squirrel was happy to take orders when necessary, but would slack off the rest
of the time.  He barely even managed to wash without being told to.
 When Squirrel wasn’t being directed, he was a liability.  Danny had
been much the same, a shop worker back in his old life.  Now both of them
were dead.

Kirk had been driving the minivan through another
field when they’d come upon an old village pub.  The Tudor-style building
was on it’s own, set off from two intersecting roads.  Its name was
The
Jubilee
and it was deserted.  There were no cars parked outside, as if
it’d been closed when the infection hit.  Nightfall was only an hour away,
so Garfield had agreed the pub would make a good campsite for the
evening.  Kirk pulled the minivan over and set it outside the front
doors.  Pubs often had a cellar full of soft drinks and long-life snacks
such as crisps and pork scratchings, but Garfield knew what the other men were
truly excited about.

I should have had Kirk turn around right then.

Garfield had no problem with alcohol.  It was
something he avoided on the road, but it was nice to have a swig back at the
pier when the opportunity presented itself.  It was an undeniable luxury
to get rat-arsed nowadays, one of the only things unanimously missed.  But
drinking in the field was dangerous.  They’d lost a man named Barry
because of it.  He’d been legless on Brandy when he stumbled down the long
escalators of an abandoned supermarket.  His leg broke and he screamed
like a trapped piglet.  The dead had come quickly, attracted to the
noise.  With his broken leg, the other foragers had no choice but to leave
Barry to his fate.  There had been little sympathy for drunkenness in the
field ever since. 
Still hasn’t stopped us losing people, though. 
Maybe I’m not cut out for this.

The Australian, Sally, seemed to take a different view
on alcohol.  As soon as they entered the pub they found optics full of
spirits and fridges full of wine and beer.  Immediately the Australian
grabbed a bottle of German Larger and bit the top off.  “It ain’t Ozzy
beer,” he had said.  “But it’ll do.”

Garfield told the men that they would take the alcohol
back to camp and drink it in safety, but Sally laughed and grabbed another beer
from the fridge.  “Sod that, squire.”

“We’re not allowed to d-d-drink in the field,” Lemon
told him, but his eyes were wide with wonder.  The alcohol was calling to
him.

“Not allowed?  Are you a man or a possum?” 
Sally grabbed a third bottle of beer and lobbed it Lemon’s way.  “You
pommes are too serious.  Lighten up and enjoy a beer.  Life doesn’t
have a lot of moments like this.  Snatch at ‘
em
while yer can.”

Lemon looked at Garfield uncertainly.  Garfield
stared back at him with a stern expression on his face.

“I’ll have a
brewski
,” said
Kirk.  “It’s been a long day.”

“That’s a bad idea,” said Garfield.

“Probably,” said Kirk.  “But it’ll sure feel
good.”  He uncapped a beer with his teeth and took a long pull from the
bottle.  He gasped and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. 
“God, that’s good.”

It hadn’t taken long before every one of them was
drinking
;
everyone except for Garfield.  He chose
to sit on a corner bench and rest up for a while.  He snagged himself a
bottle of lemonade and was content enough with that.  Hopefully, come
morning, the foragers would not be too hungover to get up off the floor. 
Can’t
blame them.  Alcohol was a temptation even before everything that’s
happened.  It feels even better to escape nowadays.

Garfield would have enjoyed nothing more than to have
joined the drunken revelling of the others, but he made the decision that at
least one of them should stay sober.  Lemon was already staggering and
Kirk was downing vodka shots like they were apple juice.  There was no
need of designated drivers anymore, but having someone alert and lucid was as
important as ever.  Still, Garfield winced every time someone raised their
voice or smashed a glass.  It had grown dark outside and he had frequent
visions of zombies creeping up to the windows in their droves.  What
Garfield never considered was that the dead were already inside. 
I
should have checked the building out thoroughly.

After having enjoyed themselves for nigh on two hours,
Cat suggested that they should make bed spaces now, rather than later when they
might be incapable.  She had let out a mighty belch to punctuate her
thoughts.

Sally jumped up on the bar and lay down, pouring
whiskey down his throat and giggling.  “You fellas don’t mind me. 
I’ll just keep drinking until I pass out right here. Reminds me of being back
in Brisbane.  I used to drink the whole weekend through back in my younger
days, different bird on each arm.  Some real beauts I used to get me.”

“We should check out the upstairs,” said Lemon. 
“We’ll probably find beds up there.  I’d like to sleep in a real bed.”

“First dibs,” shouted Danny and he and Squirrel rushed
behind the bar.  In their drunkenness they decided it was a good idea to
karate kick the door that led to the backroom area. 

As soon as the door flung open the dead piled into the
cramped bar aisle and let out a chorus of hungry moans.  In all of their
raucous partying, no one had heard them scratching at the door. 

A skeletal woman fell on Squirrel and tore out his
windpipe with her teeth.  He stumbled backwards against the bar, spraying
blood all over the place.  Sally, who’d been lying on the bar at the time,
tumbled to the ground and shouted, “Crikey!” although he almost seemed amused
by what he was seeing.

Danny went to drag Squirrel away, even though there
was no point.  Squirrel was already screwed.  A dead man set upon
Danny at once, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket.  He tried to turn
on his heels, but the alcohol in his system made him clumsy and he fell down to
his knees.  The dead man seized him immediately and tore away the flesh at
the back of his neck, biting down all the way to his spine.  Half a dozen
hungry corpses piled into the bar from the open doorway.

Garfield leapt up from the bench and thought
fast.  He picked up a stool and threw it behind the bar, slowing down the
awkward strides of the dead trying to escape from the aisle.  “Everyone
get in the van, now,” he shouted.  “Move, move, move!”

Everyone piled out of the pub, shoving through the
front entrance and towards the minivan.  The dead were outside, too,
attracted by the noise.  Garfield had to take down the nearest with a
wrench he kept strapped to his chest.  Sally and Kirk fought, too, while
everyone else leapt into the minivan or climbed into the horsebox attached to
the back.  Once everyone was onboard, Garfield headed for the front
passenger seat, but was surprised when he found Sally sitting there. 
There was no time to argue, so he slid open the door at the side of the van and
dove across the laps of the others.

Kirk gunned the engine and they took off.  A dead
man snatched at the horsebox and was dragged a few metres until his arm tore
loose and he fell facedown on the tarmac.  They managed to burn rubber
just as a dozen zombies piled out of the building and started towards them.

That had been three hours ago.

They’d driven in silence since then.  Kirk
focused on the road with a frown on his face, and even the Australian was
quiet. 
Why did he decide to head for the front seat?  Was it just
something he did in the heat of the moment, or was there an agenda? 
Those
in the back with Garfield stared into space glumly.  Cat sobbed
quietly.  Dawn was only an hour away and hangovers were beginning to take
hold.  Everyone needed sleep.

“I think we need to find somewhere,” said
Garfield.  “Kirk, stop at the next safe place you can find.”

  Out of the blue, Kirk smashed both fists
against the steering wheel.  The horn went
pip!
  “Safe? 
I think we just learned that no place is safe.  What the hell happened
back there?”

“I said not to drink,” said Garfield.  “We made
too much noise.”

“Why the hell did you let everyone drink, if you knew
it was such a bad idea?”

Garfield shook his head in disbelief.  “What
would you have me do?  I’m not your babysitter.  You all knew that
drinking was a bad idea, but you did it anyway.”

“Seems to me,” said Sally.  “That a decent leader
would keep his men in line.  The troops don’t always know what’s best for
themselves
.  Soldiers need a strong hand.”

Garfield snorted.  “Then maybe I should deal with
your insubordination by dumping you on the side of the road.  Is that a
strong enough hand for you?”

“Don’t have a go at Sally,” said Kirk.  “He has
nothing to do with this, and he’s right.  You should have stopped everyone
from drinking.  Danny and Squirrel are dead because of you.”

Garfield felt the same way, but he knew it was just
his guilt.  The truth was their own stupidity got them killed.  They
may call Garfield ‘leader’, but the truth was that every man was responsible
for himself.  “If you want to blame me, Kirk, then fine.  But don’t
kid yourself, okay?  You all knew you were taking a risk by getting
drunk.  If any of you think you can do a better job being in charge, then
we’ll discuss it when we’re back at the pier.  I’m more than happy to let
someone else take the responsibility.  Tell you the truth, I’m sick of
it.”

“The pier?” said Sally.  “Is that where your camp
is?  That sounds
bonza
.  Anyway, why
should everyone discuss it at the pier?  Why not now?”

There was silence in the minivan.

“Because now is not the time,” Garfield said.

 “Seems to me that now is the only time. 
Don’t want anyone else dying because of bad leadership, do yer?”

That’s it.  This guy is out on his arse. 
Garfield was about to shout an order to eject the Australian when Kirk
turned his head to look back at him.  “We’re almost there,” he said
excitedly.  “We’ve found it.”

Garfield shifted forward to look out the
windscreen.  There was a sign coming up on the left.  It was lit by
the minivan’s
high-beams
.  It read: DEFENCE
TRAINING ESTATE, ROYAL SCHOOL OF ARTILLERY,
LARKHILL
. 
12 MILES.  PLEASE WATCH YOUR SPEED.

Garfield let out a sigh of relief.  “We’re here,”
he said.  “Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

“That there are weapons there?” asked Lemon.

“No,” said Garfield, shaking his head.  “Let’s
cross our fingers that no one else dies.”

A
nna opened her eyes but could see
only black.  At first she thought she was blind, but then she saw the
burning embers across the sand and the crackling fires up above on the
pier.  She coughed, spluttered, and sat up.  The beach was
unsafe.  Sometimes the dead washed up on shore and began crawling
around.  No one ever set foot on the beach. 
So what am I doing
down here?

She could only stare at the fire above her for a
moment, marvelling at its beauty and enjoying the heat.  It took her a few
moments until she comprehended what it meant. 
The pier is
burning.  Something…something happened.  A bomb, or an explosion…

Anna dragged herself up off the sand and staggered to
her feet.  Her head was swimming and she noticed fluid dripping from her
fingertips.  Her heart beat faster at the sight of her own blood, and she
patted herself down frantically, looking for the source.  A jab of pain on
her right elbow alerted her to the fact that a long shard of wood had slid into
her flesh and torn her open.  She grabbed a hold of the giant splinter and
cursed as she yanked it free. 
I…I don’t understand what’s happened.

But then she knew.  She looked out across the
moonlit sea and saw the bright lights of the frigate.  
30MM guns,
pointing right in our direction
, she remembered someone saying.  Roman
had warned her, but she’d naively assumed he would return to negotiate. 
There had been nothing to gain by firing on the pier. 
But they did it
anyway. 
Even now, after all the death and destruction
we’ve seen, men will still kill to protect their vanity.

Anna spat at the ground and kicked sand into the
air.  She wanted to swim right up to the frigate and throttle whoever was
in charge. 
Samuel Raymeady…

There were moans up above and suddenly Anna panicked
that the dead had arrived.  While she may have found herself stunned and
disorientated on the beach, there was nobody else beneath the pier.  The
moaning could be coming from Alistair, old man Bob, or any of the others. 
Where is everybody?  Are they okay?

Anna grabbed a hold of a twisted piece of the pier,
which had collapsed from above.  The large steel strut had twisted and
bent inwards, making that whole section of pier list precariously to one
side.  The lowest part of the tilting deck was only ten feet above and
almost within reach. 

Anna placed a foot up onto the skewed piece of steel
and hoisted herself higher.  From there she was able to grab a hold of a
plank jutting out from the deck.  She winced as splinters bit into her
palms, but she kept on climbing, pulling herself up,
one
handhold after another.  By the time she pulled herself up onto the pier
she was huffing and puffing, and her wounded elbow had split wide open. 
But none of that mattered.

The pier was on fire. 

The amusement pavilion at the far end had collapsed
into the sea.  The top section of its tented roof was sticking above the
waves like a coral reef.  The decking that had led to it had splintered
and snapped, bits of it now floating on the sea.  The village side of the
pier was still intact, along with the gate, but the middle section, where the
diner and various gift shops were situated, was blackened and aflame.  The
deck fell away about eight feet behind where Anna was standing; only sea and
sand existed where it had once been. 
If I’d been somewhere further
down the pier I would be dead.  Where were the others when we were hit?

As if to answer her question, old man Bob, Jim, and
Samantha appeared from behind the toilet block.  They were covered in ash
and their eyes were wide and frightened. 
Even after surviving the
apocalypse, they can still only take so much.
  Some of Samantha’s
jewellery had snapped and broken.  The bracelets on her wrists rattled a
little less than usual.

Anna stumbled towards them, tears in her eyes as the
relief washed over her that she was not alone in surviving the attack, but then
she saw that they carried a body between them and she suddenly felt sick.

It was Chris.  The middle-aged man was burned so
badly that Anna could only recognise him from the bright red wellies he
wore.  His face was a twisted mask of swollen, blistered flesh.

“We were hoping you could help him,” said old man Bob.

“But he’s already dead, isn’t he?” said Samantha
glumly.

Anna nodded and stayed silent for a moment. 
“What happened?” she eventually asked.

Old man Bob spat a mouthful of ash onto the
deck.  “We were bombed…
shot
…I don’t know, whatever.  That
godless ship fired on us.”

“All because of that man they wanted?” said
Samantha.  She was a mixture of sad and angry.  “Just because of
him?  We didn’t deserve this.  We did nothing.  Why did they do
this to us?”

Anna couldn’t answer the question, so she asked one of
her own.  “Where’s everybody else?  Poppy, Rene, Alistair, Tim?”

Bob shrugged.  The older man looked like he was
about to die where he stood.  “Just us, lass.  I haven’t seen the
others.”

“Then we need to find them now.”  Anna stared at
the fires that illuminated the middle of the pier.  The roof of the
Sea
Grill
restaurant had collapsed in on
itself
and
was slowly succumbing to the flames.  The toilet block was all brick and
hadn’t caught alight.  Neither had the ice cream shop where Garfield and
Poppy stayed.  Further down, the last section of the pier was completely
untouched by flames, but the only buildings it contained were a small cashpoint
vestibule and a tourist helpdesk. 
And the gate.
 
Thank God the gate still stands.
  “Everybody, get searching,” she
ordered.  “There’ll be time to cry later.” 
And time to figure out
how to make someone pay for this.

They found Rene inside the diner.  They spotted
him staggering out of the burning building with Tim slumped over his shoulder,
like some action hero in a movie.  Tim was still conscious and swinging
his crutches left and right, batting away the burning debris as Rene carried
him out onto the deck and placed him back on his feet. 

Anna threw her arms around Rene when she saw
him.  “You’re alive,” she said, stating the obvious, but glad to be able
to say it.

“But injured,”
Rene
grunted,
easing her back and wincing.  Along his neck, from his chest to his chin,
a deep burn glistened.  The flesh was bright pink amongst his normal
healthy dark skin.”

Anna winced.  “Jesus Christ.”

Rene nodded.  “May he guide me back to
health.  I am okay for now, Anna.  What needs to be done?”

Anna answered immediately.  “We need to find
Poppy.  Alistair, too.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tim.  “This is all my fault.”

Anna marched up to the cripple and snarled.  “No,
its half your fault.  That son of a bitch on his little toy boat is
responsible for the other half.”  She walked away and began her search for
Poppy.  She would deal with Tim later.

Poppy and Alistair were on the rooftop.  I
remember because I left them to head for the diner.  I was outside on the
deck when the pier was hit.  I must have been thrown onto the beach. 
If the sand wasn’t so wet I might have died when I landed. 

Anna angled her run and headed for the
Sea Grill
. 
The rooftop had gone, fallen-in from the fire, but where were Alistair and
Poppy?  Had they been hit?  Or thrown free like Anna had been? 
Damn
it!  Where are you two?

Flames had not yet consumed the interior of the
restaurant.  It smouldered and smoked in some places, but the fire was yet
to fully take hold.  Anna pushed open the door and stepped inside. 
The smoke made her choke immediately.  She shoved a sleeve over her mouth
and swallowed hard.  The stars shone down from the centre of the room
through a large gap where the ceiling had split open.  The far side of the
diner was completely devastated by the heavy, burning lintels of the roof,
which had snapped like twigs and fallen to the ground.  At the back of the
room was the open-plan kitchen, currently unharmed. 

Alistair lay on the ground ten feet from Anna. 
He was bleeding heavily.  A pool of blood surrounded him on the cracked
tiles, congealing quickly in the heat of the nearby fires.  Anna leapt
down beside him and placed a hand against his cheek.  “Al, it’s okay, I’m
here.  It’s Anna.  I’m going to help you.”

Alistair spluttered and a mouthful of blood ended up
on his chin.  “Y-you can’t help me, lass.  I’ve been violated,
huh.
”

Anna frowned and wondered what he meant, but then she
saw.  A steel shard had
violated
his groin in the space between his
bellybutton and his genitals.  Whether the thick shard had come from the
shell that hit the pier or from something else, she did not know, but it had
torn Alistair’s insides apart. 
Shit, this is bad.

Anna felt herself cry.  For a long time she’d not
wanted to love or trust anyone besides Rene, but she knew now that she’d come
to love the people on the pier like family.  Alistair was an obstinate
asshole, but he was like a brother.  She wished she’d realised it earlier.

Alistair forced a smile onto his face and struggled to
speak again.  “I’m g-glad you’re okay, Anna.  I was w-w…worried.”

Anna laughed.  “Don’t you worry about me, you
silly sod
. 
You should…”

Alistair eyes had gone still.  His chest had
stopped moving.

Anna never even had the chance to say goodbye. 
Death didn’t wait for pleasantries, she knew that, but she’d hoped for another
minute or two.  She leant forward and kissed Alistair’s cheek, then stood
up and walked towards the kitchen.  Rene tried to enter the restaurant
behind her, but she shouted at him to leave. 
Nobody else needs to see
this.

Anna took a deep breath and held it for a
minute.  The smoke inside the restaurant was thickening and burning her eyes,
but she couldn’t leave yet.  Poppy had been with Alistair when the shells
hit
.  
Anna had to find her.  She’d promised Garfield she would
look after the girl. 
I need to find her.  I need to find her.

Poppy lay beneath a table by the kitchen.  Her
blonde plaits were blackened and half her face was missing.  Despite that,
she seemed peaceful.  Her body was lying comfortably and her mouth was
pursed into a smile.  The intense heat of the blast had taken her
instantly, but that didn’t make Anna’s sadness any less.  The little girl
didn’t even seem real anymore.  She looked more like an old porcelain
dolly with a broken face.

There was something poking out of the breast pocket of
Poppy’s cardigan.  It looked like a charred piece of paper.  Anna
removed it carefully and unfolded it.  She couldn’t help but smile as she
looked at the drawing.

The picture was unfinished and the top half was
burned, but Anna could clearly see the pier sketched in pencil.  Atop its
deck, brought to life by dozens of colours were all of the people of the
pier.  Anna spotted Garfield, bigger and stronger than everybody else,
with bright red hair.  Standing beside him was Alistair with a bright big
grin and huge muscles.  Then Anna spotted herself.  Poppy had drawn
her in a long white dress with a golden tiara upon her head.  She stood
next to Rene who was holding the train of her dress. 
She thinks I’m a
princess?
  At the bottom of the picture, below the two-dozen people
drawn on the pier were two words written in wiggly capitals: 
MY
FAMILY.

Anna felt a fire burning.  At first she thought
it was coming from her gut, but then she started to feel it against her
skin.  The delicate flesh of her cheek started to tingle and burn, but she
did not care.  She breathed in the pain like it was power.  The more
it hurt her, the more conviction that filled her heart, until she could stand
it no more and stumbled away.  She headed back outside and ignored the
desperate queries of her campmates – her
family
.  Instead,
she stared out across the moonlit sea at the frigate all lit up like a beacon
of hope.  It mocked her.

Anna thought about the man onboard,
Samuel Raymeady
,
and how she was going to kill him.