I Dream of Zombies (35 page)

Below them, Ellen and Harold worked as a team while Billy switched between keeping the boat straight and lessening the numbers on the le
ft. As the shadow of the bridge passed over the vessel, Harold ducked inside for safety while Ellen and Billy leapt on to the roof and ran forward. As the dead continued to plunge, but this time on to the wooden deck at the rear of the narrow boat, the four turned their guns on them, turning the area into a bloodbath and the canal waters red. By the time the bridge was an afterthought, the shooters were exhausted.

When silence reigned once more, Harold opened the door to a pile of bodies. “I guess we have some cleaning up to do,” he remarked
, glancing up at the four faces that peered down at him with expressions showing a mixture of relief and disbelief.

Marla sat down on the roof and wiped her face with the cuff of her denim jacket. “It’s too hot for this,” she said.

Tommy chuckled.

“What?” she asked
frowning.

“That’s just the craziest thing to say under the circumstances.”

“But it is. I only wore it cos I needed all the pockets.”

Tommy
laughed again and then Ellen caught it.

“I’m going to duck inside to tell Peggy and the kids that we’re all fine,” said Harold.

“Don’t let them see this mess though,” Ellen called out.

“Of course,” he replied. “Do you think I’m nuts?”

“I love that old guy,” Billy remarked, sitting down on the clean bit of roof with them.

“I know. I’m so glad we bumped into them,” said Marla. “Imagine – we wouldn’t have known about the lock, deep water and…”

“Ah, please look on the bright side, Marl,” teased Ellen.

“That is the bright side. The dark side is the job of cleaning all these bodies off the boat.”

Everyone fell silent and glanced around. No one moved, not wanting to be the first to volunteer. As they breezed through the tranquil waters they stayed quiet for a while, savouring their escape and this most elusive sense of safety.

“Okay, you two, have you got all your things packed?” asked Ellen, sitting down on the bed.

“Yep,” said Barney. “I have my things and
my mum’s things.”

“And I have Jemima,” said Ruth, sticking her doll in the air and waving her. She screwed up her face and giggled before putting her thumb in her mouth. “And Bub!” she said loudly, patting the dog soundly on the back. He wagged his tail and bounce
d up before sitting down again where he thumped it up and down on the wooden floorboards.

“Ruth’s stuff is in that one there,” added Barney, pointing.

Ellen glanced at the three bags on the floor. “Good job. Now I’ve packed mine, so I guess we’re all fit to go. Are you ready?”

“I’m going to miss this boat,” Barney admitted with a big sigh.

Ellen smiled. “I am as well… some of it,” she added, adjusting Ruth’s dress, which was threatening to rise up again. “The last three days were great.”

“I like being on water. It is restful.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get to go on a boat some day in future, and hopefully this place we’re going to will be just as good.”

“Do you think it will be?”
the boy asked, screwing his face up.

“Well, I haven’t been there before, but I’m hopeful. Let’s keep our hopes up, yes?”

Barney nodded and bent down to play with Bob.

Ellen left the children and walked through to the kitchen area of the narrow boat. “We’re all set now,” she told her sister, who was tidy
ing up in case someone else needed to stay there.

Marla closed the cupboards and turned. “Great. Everyone’s ready, I think. Yes?”

Tommy, Billy, Peggy and Harold nodded to one another.

“We should be arriving in Pewsey in a few minutes,” said Harold, folding up the map he was holding. Peggy hugged him, looking bright and cheerful. “She’s excited,” he added.

“Going to check we’re still going straight,” informed Billy, popping outside.

Ellen turned to Peggy.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t go back to your boat for your belongings.”

“Ah, they were only things,”
she replied. “We took the important items and we’ve got each other. That’s what’s important.”

“Too right,” Tommy remarked. “And after what we’ve been through on this trip, that’s saying something.”

“I’m going to move all the bags and things to the front doors,” said Marla, walking away.

“I’ll help you,” Tommy offered, following her.

“What’s going on between those two?” whispered Peggy when they were out of earshot.

“Nothing,” Ellen replied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

Ellen laughed. “When it comes to my sister anything is possible.”

“Well, let’s stop goofing around and go help. I don’t think we need anything in here,” said Harold, and we’re leaving the keys on the side there, like the previous occupants did.”

“Nice idea,”
Ellen replied. “You never know who will need this boat and it’s served us very well.”

They wandered into the bedroom area where everyone was sitting on the beds, waiting patiently while Bob meandered between them, bargaining his big, dopey brown eyes for much welcomed strokes.
The door was open and the summer breeze blew in, fresh and welcoming.

“Here we go,” said Harold, beaming. “Pewsey.
The map shows loads of fields here, so we could either cut across them or take the main road.”

Everyone looked at one another and replied almost in unison, “Main road.”

Harold smiled. “Alright, so we get off at Pewsey Wharf. There’s a car park, so hopefully we can find some way of getting to Rickslaw.”

Tommy stepped out on to the little deck outside, followed by Marla and Ellen. He glanced down at the red stains on the wood and then out across the water at the moored boats on the left-hand side of them. Wondering if any had any occupants, he listened out for any sounds or voices, but heard none. The engine might have drowned it out anyway.

“It’s quiet,” Marla remarked.

“
Quiet is okay,” said Ellen.

“
Hope so. I’m expecting we’ll find people here. Maybe even transport is still running. We’re a long way from the city now.” Marla gazed at the empty green fields on either side as they chugged along, passing yellow-coloured farmland, full of crops. “See, someone must be tending that.”

Tommy remained quiet as he took in the scenery. “Bridge ahead,” he called out to Billy. “I think this is where we stop. Looks like a main road going across it.”

“A345, Marlborough Road,” Harold informed them, glancing at his map. On the left here is Pewsey Wharf.  This is the quiet end of the village. Just fields really. We’ll need to head south, past the station and through the residential area. The A345 runs all the way through. I’m hoping we see signs for Rickslaw, because I can’t see it on the map.”

“It isn’t marked?”  

“Remember the note from Eric and what Billy said?” asked Marla. “Billy said the radio announcement mentioned some buildings were either government or army facilities at secret locations – well, secret before all this happened. And Eric said Rickslaw isn’t on a map and to look out for a road. I’ll check the note, because I can’t remember the name offhand.”

Tommy nodded. “Right, so let’s hope thing
s are still normal around here. We haven’t seen any freaks for a couple of days, so maybe.”

Billy pulled the throttle backwards to slow the
narrow boat and turned towards the bank, aiming for a 30-degree angle. When it was about five feet away, he steered gently to straighten up. Engaging reverse gear, he drew the vessel parallel with the bank of the canal and then stopped.

“Nice work, Billy,” Marla called out. “Professional.”

He grinned back. “I do my best.”

Taking the mooring pins, he secured the boat while everyone else took the luggage ashore.
Marla checked out the surroundings. Quiet. When Billy caught up, everyone took their own bags and Ellen picked up Ruth. Tommy still gripped his shotgun and Marla her handgun while Billy kept hold of the spare he’d been given after losing his rifle. Barney did not bat an eyelid at the sight of the guns, Marla noticed. The kid had gotten used to the sight of them and she felt a stab of sadness at that.

Tommy strode slightly ahead as usual as he led them up the gravel path alongside the water’s edge. At the end there was a metal gate, which he held open for everyone to pass through.
Billy winked at him and joked, “Want a tip?”

Tommy grinned. “Okay?”

“Don’t piss in the wind!”

“Right,” he answered, laughing. “And I have one for you…”

Billy raised an eyebrow.

“Never
cross a cow.”

Billy scowled. “Never cross a cow? That’s not even funny.”

“I don’t think the cow would find it funny either,” Tommy replied with a smirk.

“Never cross a cow?” mumbled Billy, shaking his head from side to side as he traipsed after
the man. “A cow…?”

Tommy hastened his pace to take his usual spot at the head of the line where Marla was walking next to Ellen. She smiled at him. “It’s quiet. Nice pub,” she added, pointing with her head.

He glanced at the large red-brick building with a grey roof. A couple of tables with chairs and umbrellas were set outside. “We could pop in and ask if they know where Rickslaw is or if any buses are running,” he suggested.

“Do you think it’s open?” she asked. “
It seems quiet, but then it isn’t boarded up.”

“I’ll check,” Tommy offered.

Marla sighed. “I’ll come with you. Guys, wait here, we’ll just be a minute.”

Th
ey strode towards the building and found no signs on the door to suggest it was closed. Tommy pushed on the black-painted wooden door, which creaked open. The smell of sawdust and stale beer greeted him, and he smiled instinctively. It was a heart-warming scent: normality. Holding the door for Marla to take, Tommy walked further inside.

The
space was huge and painted white with black beams everywhere. Old-fashioned looking and the kind of place he could easily spend an evening in, no bother. Circular, black-painted tables were lined up on either side of the room, surrounded by chairs. Here and there were booths offering more privacy. Tommy walked forwards, taking in the jukebox and various photographs of Pewsey in the past. The bar was situated against the furthest wall.

Marla walked between the tables to where the pub opened up into a separate room. “Going here,” she said softly and Tommy nodded. She walked below an arch created by black-painted beams
, and into the smaller space in which there were a few leathery looking sofas and some more round tables. The windows looked out on the canal. She gazed outside for a moment, but the water looked peaceful. Shrugging, Marla left the room to find Tommy. He was checking the various draughts at the bar.

“I don’t think anyone is here,” Marla remarked.

“But the door was open and everything looks as if someone has just walked away. These tables aren’t dusty and the glasses all look clean.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she replied.

“We could just wait a few minutes and I’ll try that door,” he suggested nodding to the black-painted one marked ‘Private’. “Perhaps this village is untouched.”

“I hope so,” said Marla walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“L
ittle ladies’ room – wanna come?” she joked.

He laughed. “Couldn’t you have gone on the boat?”

“I didn’t think of it,” she replied, waving her hand in the air. “And it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

Tommy shook his head and leaned over the bar,
taking in the mellow scent of beer and debating how long to wait before knocking on the black door.

Marla dropped her rucksack on the table outside the door to the women’s toilets, gripped her gun and pushed the door open. The first thing she saw was a clean basin and a pink bar of soap. There was an
overpowering fragrance of roses. To the left were four cubicles. Bending down she peered beneath them all to check there was no one there and stood up again. One window was open, but the gap was not large enough for anyone to squeeze through unless they were about three years old.

Marla headed into the first cubicle and rested her gun on the windowsill. Turning, she pulled down her jeans and knickers, and squatted. Gazing up at the door, which was emblazoned with a brashly coloured advert for some guy who would pick you up in his car if you got drunk, rather than you
having to drive home and risk an accident, she listened to the faint whistle of a bird outside. It sounded like a robin, but she could not be sure. Such sounds reminded her of how things used to be, before they became so complicated and unsure.

Rickslaw must
be near here; it just had to be. And there had to be people. It was such a long way from London and they had not seen any dead-lookers for days, not since that time on the bridge. Marla winced at the memory. Adjusting her underwear and jeans, she stood up and flushed the toilet. Hoping that Tommy had found out about a bus, she opened the door and walked out to the sink. Glancing in the mirror, she turned on the hot tap and ran her hands under the water.
Shit! The gun!
Idiot!
Shaking her head at her reflection, Marla wandered back into the toilet cubicle and picked up her weapon from the windowsill. Backing up, she turned and the hideous face that met her eyes made her freeze as fear seared her with its icy breath.

As Marla retreated
in fright, the backs of her knees made contact with the hard, ceramic toilet and her legs almost buckled beneath her. Pulse racing, her left arm flew back to prevent her falling backwards on to the toilet seat and as she reached out her right arm for the wall to keep her balance, she dropped her gun in the process. Cursing, Marla raised both arms and forced the dead thing in front of her away as its jaws opened and closed, its teeth biting at the air just inches from her throat. It was heavy, resembling the weight of a drunk’s body, unable to lift itself.

The stench of rotting flesh filled Marla’s nostrils. The gun lay on the floor and she could not bend to pick it up. If she did, the dead-looker would be on top of her and she had to keep it off. As she moved her head to the side, droplets of blood bounced on to her shoulders. Shivering in disgust, she pushed harder against the torso of the thing. Sharp ribs met her soft palms and as she exerted more effort she felt the ribcage bend slightly. Something cracked. Her hands were going to sink into the stomach cavity, she realised, as her breathing became more rapid.

Shaking herself to get her wits together, Marla moved her hands up in a simultaneous action towards the shoulders of the dead, trying to find a resting place from which to push, as its teeth chomped at the side of her cheek. She swerved and its mouth sucked in her hair. As she tried to move further, she felt her head being tugged. The thing was eating her hair and its bloody sunken eyes glared into her own. She screamed, but she sensed it was not loud enough.