Wild Strawberry: Book 3 Ascent (3 page)

*   *   *

As Winter set in the survivors in the Bunker watched the CCTV screens in the control room, looking for any sign of the zombies freezing.

             
When a crowd of the undead stood undisturbed for a length of time they would rock very gently backward and forward.  In large groups the movement would somehow synchronise, and the crowd would move in subtle waves.  Only when the Screaming started would they sway more than a few inches.

             
Danniella had described the Screaming as a time when the creatures had a moment of flickering consciousness as to who and what they are, and perhaps of who they had been before their death.

             
The Screaming was when they would find out if the undead were frozen.

             
In January they switched on the monitor to find snow falling on the sea of the zombies.  The snow did not melt on their cold bodies.

             
“That means they have no body heat!” said Danniella, rubbing her chin.

             
“If you’d ever got near one you’d know it had no body heat – they’re cold!”

             
“I have got near one, and I know they’re cold – but there’s cold, and there’s cold.”

             
As they watched the Screaming started.

             
“There they go again, they’re not frozen!”

             
“But wait, they’re not moving properly.”

             
They had not frozen solid, but the ice was certainly having an effect.

             
Their limbs were stiff, and their movements, which were not well coordinated at the best of times, were now chaotic: the creatures convulsed, and most of them fell to the floor.

             
Zooming in they could see that some fingers had snapped off.

             
“They’re not frozen, but the extremities have gone,” Max looked on with interest.

             
“The question is,” Danniella peered closely at the screen as she spoke, “will they freeze to the core if it stays this cold?”

             
Jim pinched the end of his nose, closing his eyes as he spoke, “If they froze solid we could have the world back.”

             
Will nodded slowly and added, “But traveling along icy roads will bring a whole new set of problems, especially roads that are blocked.  If there are any unfrozen zombies out there, they are going to be a whole lot harder to deal with in the cold.  And it’s going to be harder to start cars.”

*   *   *

Once they knew the effects of cold on the undead the community became divided.  There were those who wanted to escape the Bunker and set up a new life somewhere with a colder climate:

             
“If we can get a boat we head for Iceland,” Tina eyes lit up, imagining an icy haven, everyone dressed in thick furs, drinking vodka, illuminated by the Northern Lights.

             
Tina had been a prison officer, her short hair, array of facial piercings and cold grey eyes hid a caring interior.  “…But if we can’t get as far as Iceland, I say we just head as far north as we can, like to the Scottish Highlands.”  She imagined feasting on roast ox, drinking whisky, all the men wearing kilts.  She knew the kilts were unrealistic, but it was her imagination, and she was going to enjoy it.

             
Jim was not convinced:  “It’s deadly out there.  Every time we send a group out, fewer of them come back.  It appears that whatever is keeping these things alive is slowing the rot, but you only have to smell them to know they are rotting, however slowly.”

             
Max sat forward, “We have no idea how long it will take them to rot sufficiently so that they become harmless.  Three months on and they still look pretty fresh.”

             
“But the smell,” pointed out Danniella, “the smell proves their cells are breaking down.”

             
“Let’s think about the smell,” continued Max, “when someone dies they evacuate their bowels…”

             
“You mean they shit themselves?”  Interrupted Arlene.  After Summer, Arlene was the youngest survivor: her angelic face belied her ferocious temper and filthy sense of humour.

             
“Yes,” replied Max, “when you die you ‘shit yourself.’  So even if they don’t rot they
will
smell.  Then whatever torn lumps of flesh they eat, together with the remains lying around too far gone to reanimate will make the world a pretty smelly place up there, even without zombies rotting.”

             
They all sat in silence, contemplating the state of the world.

             
Danniella was the first to speak: “But if nothing else rots them, at least freezing and defrosting is going to mess them up.”

             
“We just don’t know what’s going to happen to these things over the next months and years,” began Jim, “but we do know that it’s safe, really safe down here.  It’s about as safe as it is possible to be in our Brave New World.  I think we have to prepare for at least a year underground.”

             
“A year?” Arlene rocked unhappily in her chair.

             
“You thinking that’s too long or not long enough?”  Asked Jim.

             
“Dunno.  Both.  I was doing three years before all this started.  Would of got out after two, so I guess I’m still winning.”  Arlene had been in a prison for young offenders before the outbreak.  She was the last surviving prisoner, and Tina the last surviving guard.

             
Tina sighed “See it as time off for good behaviour.”

             
“Anyway,” Jim spoke again, “a year, with two Winters of freezing and defrosting, and one Summer heat, should do some damage.  Once they’re weakened, we review our situation.  If we’re self-sustaining by then, and the zombies still look intact, I suggest we give it a little longer.  But if they’re rotting, or life is getting too tough down here, we can make a move.”

             
“Let’s add some weapons to our shopping list,” suggested Will, “we’ll prepare for leaving at the same time as we prepare to stay.”

             
“What kind of weapons do you have in mind?”  Asked Tina.  “I strongly suspect that any gun shops have already been raided.”

             
“I’m thinking axes, and… um… axes really,” Will replied, “lots of axes.”

             
“We’re already going to the hardware shop,” said Siobhan with a wink, “we’ll pick up an axe for everybody along the way.”

*   *   *

They decided not to put all their eggs in one basket.  Danniella would return to her laboratory in Central London, along with Tina.  The lab was fully equipped for a lockdown (albeit one designed for keeping a contagion inside, rather than keeping monsters out).  There was emergency power and food for weeks of quarantine, which would last months if rationed.  They would need to pick up more food along the way.  However Danniella and Tina were not aiming to live in the lab forever.  They would find a cure or they would die in the attempt.

             
“Tina,” Danniella was trying to dissuade her friend from joining her, “this is little better than a suicide mission.”

             
“Well, Dan,” Tina smiled without humour, “I admire what the gang here are trying to do, but I really don’t want to live like this forever.”  Her voice sank to a whisper, “…I’d rather die.”

Services

The network of motorway service stations provided several shelters for the last survivors of the Apocalypse.  They were often located in the middle of nowhere, and were well stocked with food.

             
One such place on the M1 provided everything Helena and Rob needed for post-Apocalypse life.  It was their near perfect home, offering shelter to themselves but also for around forty hungry zombies.

             
There was a lot of food in the shop and a very well stocked food court, the only problem was that the undead lived on the ground floor.  Helena and Rob were forced to live in the metal rafters of the ceiling.

             
“Time to go fishing,” Helena announced with a grin.  Helena was a middle-aged woman, with a shock of peroxide blonde hair.  She had always been slim, but the diet of milk shakes and burgers she had been eating since they’d set up home in the service station had taken their toll.

             
Rob was similar in age to Helena, but they made an odd couple.  Helena was glamorous; since the End of the World she had worn more make-up, regularly collecting anti-ageing creams, lipsticks and foundation from the chemist in the service station.  Her eyebrows had been plucked to within a millimetre of their life, and she prided herself on smooth legs and a perfect bikini line.  Rob had a stubbly beard and could have been described as ‘chunky’ before the Rising, but afterwards had become seriously overweight and had let his facial hair grow into a luxuriant beard.  He was aiming for something of ‘Gandalf-like’ proportions, but his beard was patchy, not uniform grey, so unfortunately he looked like he had been living on the streets for months.

             
They had salvaged a small solar powered battery charger and some rechargeable batteries.  With this equipment Helena was delighted to be able to power a ‘ladyshave’ whereas Rob continued to try and tune the cheap service station radios to receive any signal.

             
Despite their differences they muddled along together, and when surrounded by madness they kept each other sane.  They were not a couple, but behaved as though they had been married for years.  They had only met once or twice before the Apocalypse; they had been going to an amateur dramatic performance put on by mutual friends when the world fell apart.  Their other travelling companions had joined the crowd of the undead on the ground floor.

             
The service station was a large open plan hall, with a communal eating area in the middle, and an array of shops to the sides.

             
Luckily for Helena and Rob lights hung from a low ceiling that gave them a sizeable roof space to set up home.

             
What had been less fortunate, was that a few hours after they had arrived on the first night of the outbreak, a forty-foot lorry had crashed into glass front of the building, rendering it un-securable.

             
Ever since the crash the zombie throng would expand slowly as every few days another creature would wander inside.

*   *   *

Helena and Rob called their forages below for food their ‘fishing’ trips.  Their expeditions had started as terrifying ordeals, but since the pair had quickly adapted quickly to their new lives, the terror had morphed into excitement: a welcome emotion when so many of the pleasures of their old life had gone.

             
“Whose turn is it to be bait?” asked Rob, running his fingers through his beard. 

             
“Rob,
darling
,” Helena fluttered her eyelashes in mock flirtation, “I think it may be my turn, but I would love chance to have a look at the book shelf.”

             
Rob and Helena shared a love of literature.  Unfortunately the selection of books in the service station newsagent was limited to trashy thrillers, trashy romance, trashy horror and some top-shelf adult novels that were mostly about bondage and unlikely erotic encounters.

             
Rob started with thrillers, Helena with romances and erotica; they would meet in the middle with horror.

             
“Of all the cruelties this new world of chaos and death has to offer us,” lamented Rob by torchlight one cold night, “being stranded with no E.M. Forster and ten copies of the latest Jeffrey Archer is certainly among the worst.”

             
The process of ‘fishing’ involved one of the pair dangling as ‘bait’ from the ceiling at one end of the food hall. While the zombies were distracted the other would grab as much from the shops or restaurants as possible.

             
They had secured some storage rooms, and had made themselves a relatively comfortable living space.

             
They were just getting ready to go ‘fishing’ when the growls of the undead were joined by another sound: the engine of a car.

             
They had long since given up all hope of rescue, but now Rob could not prevent a thrill of excitement at the thought that this could be the Police or Army come to save them.

             
He leaned down as far as he dared from the metal rafters, attracting the attention of the zombies: their hands reaching up into the air beneath him.