Читать книгу UniteDead Kingdom - Stuart Irving Irving - Страница 12

A few minutes later Zan was walking through bright, yellow, soon-to-be-wasted rapeseed fields. He reached the top of a slope and looked back to see the distant skyline of Canary Wharf. The Capital Tower, with its unmistakable spiral top, rose majestically into the air, dwarfing the nearby Canary Wharf Tower. Smoke was billowing from it and multiple other locations across the city. The fires would probably rage for months, fuelled by gas cylinders and back-up generators left to rot before eventually exploding. And if Jack was right, if a fraction of one per cent of people survived, post-apocalyptic London - without the bustling energy of its hard-working inhabitants - was never, ever going to be the same again. Zan could imagine it slowly decaying for decades, centuries even. That it might never fully recover at all hit him with a sudden bleak weight. He started to reflect on the past. What a blessed life I led without appreciating it. First the extreme-sports life of a trader, then the quiet fulfilment of a high-school teacher.

“Gone forever.” he said quietly and continued walking.

Then he heard a distant scream and paused mid-stride.

“No, not again.” he said, staring straight ahead. He strode faster through the long yellow grass as another faint scream sounded in the distance. If I keep my guard up and my distance from others I’m less likely to get into trouble. That’s all I have to remember to survive.

After walking another kilometre through the fields he could feel the hackles rise up the back of his neck as he sensed something behind him. He snapped his head round. His heart quickened when he saw an armoured personal carrier moving through the crops directly towards him, half a kilometre away and closing fast. It seemed certain it was the one he saw earlier. It looked even more ominous speeding towards him.

I’ll never outrun it and I left my rocket-propelled grenade launcher in the flat so I’m going to have to deal with it and whatever the occupants want. How should I greet them? Zan quickly raced through his options. Should I drop my weapons and face them unarmed? Then I’m at their mercy. They’d clearly won the battle I saw so they’re prepared to be violent. Shall I hold the gun up to show I mean business? That might provoke them to shoot me from distance with the vehicle for cover. Oh shit! They’re definitely headed straight for me, not even slowing down. Fuck! Quick, THINK! OK, I’ll crouch down with the crops as cover and aim carefully. Simultaneous defence and offence. I bet they saw me earlier when I was up the hill, mesmerised by London on fire. Zan bit the corner of his finger.

The APC skidded to a halt about eighty metres away. What if they have a rifle? Shit! I’m a sitting duck, or an even bigger target, a sitting swan! It was overcast but he felt sweat trickle down his greasy hair unto his brow and sting his right eye. He blinked, staring intently for any movement from the APC.

“Shit,” he moaned, “it’s just sitting there!” Squinting at the windshield, Zan thought he could see the shape of two people inside. They looked civilian. That’s a complete guess; calm the fuck down, man!

Over a minute passed. Only the rustling of the crops broke the nervy silence. Did i just see movement? Were they talking to each other in the front? Zan slowly lowered his free hand to unzip his rucksack to get his binoculars as he peered over the top of the rapeseed at the vehicle. He could have sworn the driver kept turning his head. His hand was exploring his bag down by his side, trying to find his binoculars by touch alone. The passenger side door opened and out stepped a civilian in grey/black clothes. It was a slightly built man or possibly a woman, too far away to tell. The sweat was dripping into his eyes. Zan gave up on the search for the binoculars and with his trembling left hand mopped his brow. The last thing I want in a gunfight is to be fucking blinded by my own nervous sweat. Maybe I could drop my gun and offer my water, maybe—

“WE DON'T MEAN YOU ANY HARM!”

It was a woman's voice - quite strong and clear from distance. Zan instinctively looked around to see if it had attracted any zombies. He could see a loose cluster of about ten across the other side of the field.

“What do you want t-Then?” Zan shouted back, confidence dissipating as his voice broke with tension at the end. There was a pause. The APC started to roll slowly forwards, the woman walking alongside.

“Don't worry. We just want to talk.” She held her hand up sharply and the APC stopped. “I’m going to approach you slowly oN MY OWN, I'm unarmed.”

She put her arms in the air and walked another thirty metres on her own and turned a full circle slowly, showing no sign of a weapon's bulge. And despite the danger of the situation he still registered a nice feminine bulge. Was that a stirring I’ve not felt in weeks? Well, that's something, maybe this could be our first date, his mind babbled.

“Focus, for fuck sake man.” he murmured to himself. He felt tired and hungry. Wonder if they have fresh food? God, I miss fresh sizzling steak. I wonder what they want; they’re not getting my tuna!

She strode purposefully towards him, talking slowly and confidently as she got nearer.

“Please put down your gun, I just want to talk, we saw you back at the barriers to Kingswood, the little town back there. You’ve come from Maidstone haven't you? We came from there too; we're following the trail of my sister, Molly. She's only nineteen, blonde, curvy, talkative and … of a nervous disposition. I'm terrified of what's happened to her or that she’s survived but she’s all alone. Have you seen her?”

Zan grit his teeth and stood up. The woman was now thirty metres away and closing. She was late twenties with reddish-blonde hair (was that the same as auburn?) in a boyish, short bob-cut. Sensible for avoiding outstretched zombie hands. Her eyes, Zan breathed heavily, even from twenty metres away they’re startling; a shiny liquid green. He gulped with a moment of yearning. He had a moment to stare and then snapped out of it when he realised she was still waiting on his answer.

“Look, eh, I'm not used to someone who doesn't try to eat me or rob me on sight so forgive me for being … hesitant. No, I’m afraid I’ve not seen your sister.”

I can’t say ‘Molly’ - I don’t trust my voice not to give the game away. If I say her name some recognition or guilt will seep out. I could kick myself for not coming to her rescue now that I knew her sister was so beautiful. Arrgh, am I really that callous? No time to get into that now.

“How did you eh … lose her?”

“Well, she's impulsive and slightly … eh … uncomplicated.” She broke off to stare at the zombie pack in the distance. “She ran off when she encountered her first zombie. When the phone signal came back for a bit, my brother Kevin and I tracked her down to Sevenoaks. She’d panicked and followed everyone escaping the city. We searched Sevenoaks for five days and not a thing. That was over two weeks ago. We just started our search of this area. We ran into barrier guards on the road over there who just wanted to take our …” her voice trailed off. “Anyway, please have a think. What's your name?”

“Zan. I'm Zan McMaster. Please to meet you. What's yours?” He felt vaguely awkward at the social formality of the exchange, in the middle of a field in post-apocalyptic Kent.

“Claire Mills. Please to meet you too Zan McMaster. That's a famous name, you're not—”

“Yes,” Zan grinned. “I’m the city trader … correction … was the city trader you saw in the news a couple of years back. Don't believe everything you read ab—”

“No, that's not it, I meant your surname. I’m thinking of a Professor Brian McMaster, the author of ‘Beginners Brain Mechanics’. Any relation?”

“Jees, you’ve read that? Eh, yeah, that’s my Dad alright. Well, was. I don't mean I can't find him or that he tried to eat me. I mean he walked out on the family a long time ago to do research in Switzerland, taking my brother and my best buddy.” Zan became aware he was giving away too much information. “Anyway, how did you know him? I thought I was more famous, at least in the last couple of years. Not that I care, just, you know … surprised.” Zan tried not to sound too miffed but sensed that he'd failed.

“Oh I studied psychology at Bristol, where I’m from, and did my thesis on brain chemistry. His book was a first year text. That's amazing that you’re related, such a small world. Well much fucking smaller now anyway.” She sighed. “Are you going to track him down, you do know he was summoned to set up a lab in Edinburgh to fight the infection?”

“Nope, he’s in Switzerland, but yes, that’s ultimately where I’m heading. He’s done enough damage. I'd sort of washed my hands of him, but I can’t let this go on. I need an explanation and that he’s helping them cure this.” Zan didn't really want to tell these strangers anymore. Yet.

“OK, right. But I’m almost certain your information is out of date. I’ll explain later. But first … how have you survived out here by yourself? There are six of us, and that's been barely enough for protection. We were ten at one stage. Those fucking soldiers. Sorry …”

“That's OK. Death is everywhere.” He couldn't help glancing down at her slender figure. She caught him doing so and didn't flinch. “Seriously, I’ve run into just about every trouble you can imagine. I think it's because I'm solo that I came through it without being someone's evening meal.”

“Well I’m glad you made it. D’you want to meet the others?”

“Erm look, Claire is it? I don't want to seem anti-social but I’m wary about joining forces with other survivors. When I’ve done it before now it didn’t end well.” Zan wanted to bite his tongue with the closeness he was to telling the truth about her sister. “You seem genuine, but how can I trust your whole group?”

“Zan, if we wanted to rob you we could have done so by now. Our group has three aims. One, find Molly. Two, survive until we find somewhere safe and warm we can call home. Three, start to gather supplies before winter comes. We’d like to talk you out of travelling solo if you are a decent man and have practical skills. There aren’t many people left who’re breathing and sane. Those who are should stick together. But if not, fine, we can go our separate ways.”

Winter, Zan thought. They were thinking that far ahead, I’m living day-to-day. Something in her tone suggested she was keener than expected for a stranger to join them.

“OK, I will meet your friends on one condition.”

“Yes?”

“I keep my gun drawn at all times. Trust has to be built.”

“Fine,” she said curtly. Zan knew instantly that it wasn’t fine, not entirely.

“OK, let’s go meet them.”