Overtime (After the Fall Book 3) Page 2

  The second and third floors where clear. No zeds in suits. Looked like the office workers had got out in time, spurred into action by a particularly terrifying news report, or a zombie sighting in the car park. Whatever, Allen had noticed the empty office phenomena common to all places so far. Seemed like no one wanted to be sat filing their TPS reports at the end of the world. No overtime in an apocalypse.

  “Ok, let’s do the ground floor,” said Allen.

  They made their way down the stairs. Johnson was still sitting on the bottom couple of stairs, staring at the jumble sale of office furniture piled up against the the front door.

  “Anything?” said Allen.

  “Nothing sir,” said Johnson. “I can hear them though. Freaks me out a bit.”

  The group stood silent and listened. Pervasive, ubiquitous, continuous. A drone of varying intensity that didn’t cease.

  “You think they ever get tired?” said Singh.

  “No,” said Lewis. “They don’t.”

  Allen walked to the door that led into the ground floor offices. “You hear anything from here?”

  Johnson shook his head.

  “I’ll go in on my own,” said Allen. “As little to excite them as possible.”

  “You sure?” said Lewis.

  Allen didn't answer, but opened the door and stepped into the ground floor office.

  The office followed the same L-shape footprint as the others, with waist high windows round the whole of its perimeter. The windows had no tint, and his arrival had an immediate effect.

  The zeds as one, or so it seemed, let out an excited moan and pushed against the window. Half rotten faces squeezed against the glass; red, green, white and black trails of thick liquid spread on the glass as zed’s innards were squeezed out by the weight of the mob behind; rotten hands clawed, tapping with exposed finger bone.

  It took a few seconds before a new sound entered the fray, that chilling clicking they did. Their teeth clacking in unison. The noise spread like a wave.

  “You ok sir?” shouted Lewis from beyond the door.

  “Fine, just keep an eye on that front door.”

  Allen would have to make quick work of this.

  Empty office. Desks covered in post-it notes. Forgotten PCs dead through want of power. Photos - so many photos, mainly children.

  A new sound alerted Allen. He turned to look at the window. Thin spider cracks appeared suddenly in the glass as if a magic trick. White tributaries flashed into existence and covered the bottom right of the nearest window.

  He didn’t have long. Allen ran to the far end of the L-shape, took a quick glance. Nothing but a gallery full of gawking zeds and empty desks.

  Another cracking sound. Another window ready to go.

  Allen turned to run, but stopped.

  A door with a red no entry sign sat in the middle of the office wall. Closed, no window.

  He quickly ran to the door and tried the handle, it opened.

  He entered and closed the door behind him. He was in darkness. He pressed his ear up against the door listening to the office outside. It sounded like the party was chilling out a bit.

  In the gloom, a lonely flight of concrete steps led into complete blackness.

  Allen took out his torch and turned it on, shining the beam down. A flight of about 10 steps led to a room, steeped in shadow.

  He held the torch in his left hand and his sledgehammer in his right, high up against the hammer so he wouldn’t have to swing; no telling what surprises were below.

  He moved quickly down the stairs and paused at the corner, peering round.

  Four rows of large metal shelves filled will black boxes, inert and still. Cascades of wires tumbled from the back of the boxes like spilled veins.

  Some sort of server room.

  Looked small, but worth a sweep.

  He moved slowly around the server room, round the outside of the shelves, shining his torch down each row.

  He reached the far corner of the room, and turned to leave. His feet didn’t swivel freely as he would have expected on concrete, but instead felt resistance. He looked down to see he was standing on a circular, metal grate, the sort you would normally see on a road.

  “Bingo,” said Allen.

  He took one more cursory look around the server room and ran up the stairs, out into the office. His arrival was met with the same excitement as before.

  The sound of a window breaking shot a spike of fear through Allen. A window half way up the office had smashed and a zed hung in through a gap in the glass, its torso speared with a large shard. Hands reached in above and around the speared zed and sliced themselves apart trying to get through the window. The zeds pushed forward causing more thick planes of glass to fall and shatter on the floor.

  Allen ran out of the room.

  “Get some furniture up against that door!” he shouted as he got into the reception.

  Lewis, Singh and Johnson immediately started helping Allen move pieces of heavy furniture against the door.

  “What happened?” said Singh.

  “The window. They have pushed through. Seeing me was too much for them.”

  “We can get more furniture from the other offices?” said Lewis. “Holding them shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Maybe not, but we need to get back in there,” said Allen.

  “Why?” said Lewis.

  “Might be our only way out.”

  Chapter 4

  The fourth floor was in a sombre mood. The group had been trapped in the building for two days now, and Allen could feel resentment and impatience building. He knew the base emotion would be fear, an emotion that could so easily blossom into something more dangerous.

  Allen, Singh and Walton sat in the corner of the room by the office door. The wall was hung with a small map of the town, found in a garage on their way into the business park. Their sleeping bags were surrounded by orderly lines of equipment and supplies.

  All of the civilians, apart from Johnson downstairs, were spread out in small groups across the large office. Three months had been long enough for sub groups to form. There were four main groups, and it was the one led by Spencer that had been giving Allen most concern. They sat over by the far wall, taking up a corner of their own.

  People played cards. Some slept. Others read books. A few looked out the window, although the novelty of the writhing crowd of zeds below was waning. A low hum of conversation imposed itself against the background of the moans from outside, which along with the omnipresent smell of rotting flesh, were constant reminders of the unhappy situation.

  “How did it go on the roof, Walton?” said Allen.

  Walton shrugged. “Not bad. We got the containers out ok. Any rain and we should be good to catch a few litres.”

  “What about Spencer?”

  “How do you mean?” said Walton.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “It went ok. He’s keen to get out of here. Like we all are.”

  “How keen?”

  “About as keen as the rest of us, sir.” said Walton.

  “Ok. Well, keep an eye on him,” said Allen.

  The soldiers busied themselves. Singh cleaned his gun, even though he had no ammo. Lewis was pulling out items from his burlap, checking his equipment. Walton rubbed his feet, three months of marching having taken its toll. Allen took out a small scale map of the UK and spread it on the floor. They were about a hundred miles from Tulloch Bay Holiday Camp in Cornwall, following the roads. Going overland, about seventy. But he didn’t fancy taking the civilians across the terrain. Some of it was bleak, and all of it considered hostile.

  “So what’s the plan, sir?” said Walton. “Once we get out of here, I mean?”

  Allen pointed to Tulloch Bay on the map. “There’s a campsite there. It’s as good a place as any to head for.”

  “You know it?” said Walton.

  “I do. I used to go there with my son.” Allen reached into his chest pocket and took
out a weathered and thumbed photo. He held it across to Walton. “Adam.”

  Walton looked at the picture. A young boy was laughing in the breakers on a sunny beach day. “You think he might be there?”

  Allen shrugged. He didn’t know what to think. He didn't want to admit to himself what he really thought. He wouldn’t be able to continue if he let his mind come to the conclusion that logic dictated. “He may be. But even so, the campsite is remote. It has good fences already, and plenty of accommodation. We need a base.” Allen motioned around the room, encompassing the civilians. “They won’t last forever on the road. Some of them are already getting pretty tired of it. They expect safety.”

  “You think you can get it at Tulloch Bay?” said Walton, passing the photo back.

  “Like I said, as good as anywhere else.”

  Allen tucked the photo back in his pocket.

  “Ok, listen up.” He motioned the soldiers to move in closer, and lowered his voice. “Downstairs, there’s a server room. Seems to be a grate on the floor; if we can pull it up, I reckon it’ll take us to some drains. We can use it to get out.”

  The men looked at each other and nodded.

  “Better than fighting our way out through that lot,” said Singh.

  “Then what are we waiting for sir?” said Walton. “Why don’t we pack up and go?”

  “Take a guess,” said Singh. “The same problem we always have.”

  “Zeds?”

  “That’s right,” said Allen. “They all got pretty excited when I was exploring and crashed the windows through. The room will be crawling with them now. We’ll need to clear it first. And we do this before we tell anyone we’ve found a way out.”

  “Why?” said Walton. “As you said, sir, people are getting antsy. Why not let them know there is a way out?”

  “Exactly because they’re getting antsy. No telling what they’d do. Fear drives people to desperate actions.” Allen looked across the room towards Spencer, who was talking to his group of six civilians.

  Walton followed Allen’s gaze, towards Spencer.

  “We’re going to go down there tonight,” said Allen. “Try and clear the place, when most are asleep. I need you to keep an eye on Spencer, Walton. Make sure he doesn’t go exploring. You got that?”

  Walton nodded. “No worries sir. I’ll make sure he stays up here.”

  “Good lad.”

  Spencer took out his afternoon’s ration of chocolate and nibbled on it.

  “They don’t have a plan,” said Margaret.

  “How do you know?” said Bill, a man in his late twenties. He would have been considered robust before the Fall, but had since shed pounds, and was surprised at what a good figure he had once the superfluous flesh was gone.

  “Because if they had a plan, do you not think they would have told us?” said Margaret.

  “Maybe,” said Bill. “But does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters,” she said. “What are we going to do, sit here until we starve? Or the zombies get in?”

  “They’ve done us well so far,” said Bill. “We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for them. Stuck in that so called safe zone.”

  “Times move on,” said Spencer, whose voice, even when kept low, was sonorous and overpowering. “We have to start thinking for ourselves, and not rely on the Sergeant’s agenda to get us through.”

  “Agenda?” said Bill. “What do you mean?”

  “He’d have us believe he is getting us to a place of safety by the coast. But I’ve found out that he’s looking for his son. That’s all.”

  “Well, aren’t we all looking for someone?” said Nancy, Bill’s new girlfriend, a waif like woman with a quiet voice and dark hair.

  “But we’re not dragging people across the country, using them whilst we try to fulfil our own ambitions,” said Spencer.

  “What do you mean?” said Bill.

  “He means,” says Margaret, “That Allen doesn’t care about keeping us safe, or helping us find our people. He’s only concerned with trying to find his son. Which is fine, but we don’t have to follow him.”

  “We have no idea,” said Spencer, “what this Tulloch Bay is like. There’s no reason to think it’s safe. I imagine it’ll be teeming with zombies.”

  The group sat in silence for a moment.

  “What’re you saying?” said Bill.

  “We may have to strike out on our own.” said Spencer. “There’s no telling how long we’ll be waiting here, and no telling when the Sergeant will get bored of us. Sooner or later he’ll realise he can get to the coast quicker without us. What happens then? What’s to say they don’t have a plan, and they’re just waiting for the right moment to get out of here, and leave us in a building full of zombies?”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” said Nancy.

  “Really? How do you know? We don’t know anything, not any more.”

  “Spencer,” said Margaret in hushed tones, her eyes motioning towards the approaching figure of Walton.

  “Private Walton,” said Spencer, “What can we do for you?”

  Walton sat beside the group. “Got some news. Think you’ll be interested.”

  Chapter 5

  Johnson looked at his watch, the day was passing into evening. It was nearly seven o’clock. His shift would end at eight. The stair well and reception room would be cloaked in darkness by then. As it was, only a few slivers of dying light escaped in through labyrinthine gaps in the piled furniture.

  Although not necessarily scared, he wasn't fond of the darkness, not since the Fall. He imagined this must have been how his ancestors had felt, all those years ago when there was no street lights, no smartphones, no internet. Once the darkness came, it enveloped everything. A greedy, voracious dark. A place for the hidden, for those scared of the light. He understood now why vampires, werewolves and ghosts were so prevalent in the myths of the past. Except, what if they weren’t myths?

  Turns out zeds weren’t.

  He held his sledgehammer close. He had found it in a garage a day after being rescued by Allen and his men from Zone Lima Delta, the supposed ‘Safe Zone’.

  The worst day of his life.

  He had escaped London with his parents and little ten year old sister, Milly, only to be caught up by the barricades that surrounded the M25. He remembered the chaos, the fear in Milly’s eyes. His own fear. He was meant to be going on an around the world trip with three of his friends, before going to Oxford to study Political History. But there he was, in the back of an army van being corralled to an old airport.

  The chaos clouded his memory, he remembered only snapshots. Soldiers, so many soldiers, hastily constructing barriers. The sound of gunfire, executing the zeds. At the time he had no idea what the zeds actually were. Of course he was aware of the virus, but he hadn’t really believed it, not fully, not what he had been reading on the Internet. How could he? It had all sounded so crazy.

  “Look after your sister,” his mum kept saying to him. He had tried. God, he had tried.

  Sirens had gone off and didn’t stop. The sound of gunfire. The Safe Zone was being overrun. Explosions as the military launched grenades at the dead masses.

  He became separated from his parents as they retreated to the centre of the safe zone, the control tower. The army were losing - they were running out of ammo and fighting hand to hand with the zeds.

  Milly had been in tears, her little face screwed up in red, her eyes wide with fear. “Where’s mummy?” she shouted over and over again.

  He did his best to keep hold of her, but when the explosion came, there was nothing he could do.

  A stray grenade, a rocket, he would never know.

  One minute he had been running across the tarmac with tens of others, towards the control tower, and the next, he was on the ground. His leg hurt, his face hurt. The skin on his arms was warm with blood.

  He searched frantically for Milly.

  She was about ten feet from him. Her skin burnt away, black
in places. It hung off in chunks on her arm and left leg.

  The vision was still so clear in his mind. Like a photograph pasted on his brain he would never be able to wipe.

  Someone had grabbed him and pulled him into the control tower. He learnt later it was Neil, some old guy. Neil saved his life.

  The sound of movement from upstairs broke Johnson from his revere.

  Footsteps, shuffling in the darkness. It sounded like a group, not the heavy thud of Allen and his men though.

  Figures emerged from the falling darkness at the top of the stair well. Spencer and Walton were at the front of the group. Spencer was a bit of an arse, thought too much of himself. What was he doing down here?

  “Hi Johnson,” said Walton.

  “Hey Walton. I’ve still got another hour of my shift left.”

  Spencer walked past him into the reception. He studied the furniture barricades. He cocked his head to one side, like a dog. “That sound, that them?”

  Johnson realised he was talking about the groaning of the zeds. He had got so used to it that he hardly heard it anymore. “Yeah, that’s them.”

  Spencer motioned to the door they had barricade earlier that day, that led to the office. “That the office?”

  Johnson looked to Walton, who nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s the office,” said Johnson. “We closed that up today.”

  “Well, Allen wants us to unclose it,” said Spencer. “We’ve been given orders to get it open.”

  Johnson shook his head. “No, he said that it was to remain shut, unless he said otherwise.”

  “And he has said otherwise,” said Spencer. “He’s sent us down to do it.”

  Johnson looked at the assembled crowd. Spencer, Walton, Bill and his girlfriend Nancy. Margaret. Nick, Karl and Mike - the three idiots who had been following Spencer around since day one.

  “Walton?” said Johnson.

  Walton nodded and offered Johnson a wide smile. Walton hardly ever smiled these days. “He’s right, Allen has sent us down to clear the door. We’re to get that office sorted.”

  “But the window is open,” said Johnson. “They can get in.”

  “We’re wasting time,” said Spencer. “We have our orders. Come on, let’s shift this stuff.”