Wild Strawberry: Book 3 Ascent (20 page)

             
Max nodded, “You have my word.  You are doing something wonderful, your name will be remembered in the history of our times.”

             
“If there is anyone left to write it,” Elsbeth muttered under her breath.

*   *   *

When Will fell into delirium he was strapped into a bed.  Summer sat with him and played his guitar.  She cursed her clumsy fingers: her chords were ill-formed and her strumming was mechanical, not flowing.

             
“You deserve a better send-off than this, Will,” she said earnestly as she stopped playing, “it’s going to be horrible without you.  No more karaoke evenings; you gave us so much fun.”

             
Suddenly Summer realised that there were words within Will’s rasping for breath:

             
“Sounds lovely… carry on love… you play.”

             
She scraped her chair along the floor, bringing her closer to him. “OK Will, I will always think of you when I play, but this one is your song, now and forever.

             
“Come on girl,” Summer whispered to herself, wishing she had chosen something easier to play, as she struck the opening chords to
Londonderry Air:

             
“
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

             
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
..”

             
She glanced at Will, who looked as though his chest had stopped moving.  Summer wondered if he had gone, but carried on singing.

             
“
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying

             
And I am dead, as dead I well may be

             
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying

             
And kneel and say an ‘Ave’ there for me.

             
And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me

             
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be

             
If you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me

             
I’ll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
”

             
By the end of the song Will was straining against his bindings and trying to thrash around, but thankfully the ropes only allowed him an inch of movement.

             
“Bye Will,” breathed Summer, standing up and looking away to allow her dead friend some dignity, “you’re a legend.”  With that she left to tell the others that Will had died.

*  *  *

In the days that followed there was profound sadness at the death of Will, a feeling they were all too familiar with: they had already mourned far too many deaths of loved ones.

             
However, thanks to Will and Siobhan’s successful ‘shopping trip’ they now had more food than ever before.  Elsbeth sorted their supplies into piles and calculated that they could be rationed for over three years.

             
They also had power during the day.  Solar panels allowed them much more light than they had been used to, but didn’t provide enough electricity for the whole Bunker.  However, they discovered they could run the oven if they turned off all the computers and most of the lights.

             
Max protested that he would rather have cold food and keep his computer running, but his objections were was outvoted.

             
Siobhan had brought back a box of books and DVDs.  Since she restricted them to one new film a week, Saturday night was declared ‘cinema night.’  The whole group would gather around the small screen on the computers in the Control Room and watch a randomly chosen movie from the box.

             
Siobhan had been in a hurry when she grabbed the films, so she hadn’t got any further than the ‘C’s, so they had
‘Amile’
and
‘Alien,’
‘Bugsy Malone’
and
‘Breaking Dawn,’
but their collection ended with
‘Citizen Cane.’

             
Summer’s guitar playing improved every day, and soon she could entertain the survivors almost as well as Will had.

             
Siobhan took on the role of Summer’s school teacher, occasionally calling on the expertise of the other survivors to give her as rounded an education as possible.  Summer’s only frustration was that Max refused to take over Danniella’s role as Science teacher.

             
The distraction during their last entrance to the Bunker had been successful: so successful that there was no longer a crowd at the door clawing to get inside.  There were still quite a few zombies ambling around outside, but they did not feel quite so threatening as before, and the survivors felt less trapped than previously.

             
Everything was going as well as seemed possible, all things considered.

*   *   *

Will was firmly strapped into an office chair, ropes looping around and around his arms and body.

             
Max moved his hand close to Will’s face, “Mmmm tasty, but not for you, dumb ass.”

             
He chuckled to himself as the zombie snapped at him, straining to take a bite.

             
“You were a pain in the arse when you were living, Will.  That bloody guitar!  You did us all a favour getting infected.”

             
The zombie that had been Will strained for him, snapping its jaws.

             
“Truly you are more use to me now.”

             
Max nodded and smiled patronisingly.

             
“From a worthless nobody to an invaluable research subject.  Don’t think of it as losing a life, think of it as gaining a meaning to exist.

             
“In fact, you should see it as an honour.”

*   *   *

Nearly six weeks after the shopping expedition Misha turned on the CCTV monitor to see the world outside.  Every moment they had power someone would be on lookout in the Control Room.

             
But as days had turned to weeks they had begun to get increasingly complaisant.  At first the lookout would call for someone else to take over at the screen if they needed a toilet break; but as time went on, the lookouts started bringing a book, glancing over at the screens only whenever they remembered.  The scene had not changed since they had last come inside.  The car park in the enclosure was mostly empty, with an occasional wandering zombie.

             
But this time as Misha turned on the monitor she jumped back off her seat in alarm.  Someone had painted words on the side of the truck that had been parked in front of the main entrance.

             
Misha ran off to get the others, and they gathered round the screen till they found the right angle to read:

             
‘
Danniella sent me.  I have important information.  I will be at the door every day at noon and midnight until you read this message.
’

             
“How the fuck was someone able to write all that without getting eaten?”

             
“Stranger still how can they be so sure they’ll we be able to get past those things at exactly noon and midnight?”

             
“This is real isn’t it, we’re
all
seeing this?  It’s not some hallucination brought on by wishful thinking?”

             
“Also Dan sent this stranger.  She isn’t with them.  Does that mean Dan hasn’t made it?”

*   *   *

The Scientist arrived, wearing a balaclava he had found in a sports goods store, and gloves from a gentleman’s outfitters.  When he drove, the car attracted crowds of the undead, drawn by the size and movement, which somehow must have spoken to them of life.  However when he opened the car door they lost interest, whether it was lack of body heat or the smell of death: something about the Scientist signalled him as ‘not food.’

             
He parked a block away from the Bunker, having pumped his horn for ten minutes to attract the local dead-life.  Then he shaded himself with his umbrella, and sauntered off towards the Bunker, and the possibility of the broadcasting equipment he needed to transmit his signal to the world.

             
He had painted the message painfully slowly.  He no longer had the fine motor skills required for writing on paper, but he could manage to hold the paintbrush in his fist and scrawl large letters.  He had been at the door for one midnight and two noons before the door of the Bunker opened a crack.

             
“Hello!”  He called out in as friendly a manner as he could manage.

             
He was quickly ushered inside, and through the airlock into the main corridor, where all eyes were fixed on him.

             
Suddenly everyone started asking questions at once.

             
“How did you get past the zombies?”

             
“Are you part of a larger group?”

             
“Is Danniella OK?”

             
“How many of you are there?”

             
“Where are you based?”

             
The stranger held up both hands in a gesture that implied both surrender and a request for silence.

             
“When you look at me you’re going to be shocked, but give me some time to explain.  If you are worried go back to the other side of the airlock.”

             
There was a door at either end of the airlock, and a small hatch that led through into the Control Room.  The survivors watched, puzzled and bemused as the strangers walked back into the airlock and gestured for them to lock the door.  Then they bundled into the Control Room and crowded round the grille to speak to him.

             
Jim leaned forward, still unable to get a good look at the figure.  “You know Dan, Danniella?  How is she?”

             
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, she made it to the Research Station in London, and we worked together there for weeks.  But I am sorry, she died.”

             
Summer pushed forward, “Oh no, and do you know about the other woman she was travelling with?  A woman called Tina?” 

             
“When I met her she was travelling with two soldiers.  They went off to secure a wider perimeter and never came back.”

             
Summer started to feel deeply uneasy talking to this stranger, with his face covered by a balaclava, and his gloved hands.

             
“So what happened to Danniella?”

             
“I really am deeply, deeply sorry about your friend.”  As he spoke he started to peel off his balaclava, carefully holding the earphones of his iPod in place.

             
The survivors instinctively withdrew when they saw that the stranger’s face was clearly that of the undead.

             
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I killed her.”

 
             
There followed a lot of cursing and screaming and running to get weaponry.

             
“Kill him!  Kill him now!” Shouted Rob.

             
“Wait, we’ve got time to get prepared.”

             
“No, he could open the outer door; the inner door isn’t as strong; get him before he gets us all killed!”

             
“Wait!” the Scientist called, “these notes will explain everything, and if you’ll let me speak I have something very important to tell you.”

             
There was a shelf in front of the speaking grille.  The scientist placed the books, some disks, and a memory stick on the shelf and stood back at the other side of the room.

             
Jim opened the grille, snatched the books and slammed it closed again.

             
“I am happy to be cuffed or restrained in any way that will make you feel safer.  I just ask that you make sure these earphones stay in my ears.  I will not lie to you, if these earphones fall out, or my mp3 player stops working, then I am just like any other zombie out there.  It’s the signal that permits me to keep my mind.”