Issue 4: Dark Times Ahead

A Chapter by Nathan Davis

Blake is settling in well with the group, but is unsure whether to trust the mysterious Noah Ferguson...

Brook Campsite 6/9/2014 10:06

“Be careful out there”

Noah Ferguson, after five full days trapped in this insane post-apocalyptic world, was getting tired of using that line. More to the point, Blackjack and Skyla were becoming pretty tired of hearing it. Here they were, about to leave on their fifth supply search (Although the first was more of a hunt for information), and Noah was telling them yet again to be careful.

It was impossible, truthfully, to be careful at all when you were out on the streets. Blackjack had decided that a long time ago. It wasn’t caution that saved you, nor skill or strength or even weapons. Out there, on your own, you could rely only on luck. Luck would decide whether you lived to fight another day or died, finding yourself torn to shreds or starving, surrounded by creepers. Or if you found yourself standing with an infectious, potentially fatal bite on your shoulder.

Luck had been unkind to Judy Blackwell. It had let her down when she had needed it most, at a time when a simple glance over her shoulder could of prevented her fate.

Blackjack knew, deep inside him, that Judy was going to die. He was sure of it. Did that make him a bad person, accepting that his friend was faced with certain death? Worse than his pessimism, he knew that he was not alone in these grim thoughts. Noah agreed. Anyone could see it in his eyes when he talked about Judy. Skyla had even told Blackjack that she knew Judy was screwed. Hell, even Blake, who had saved her and Piper not half an hour after he had arrived, could tell that she was more than halfway to death. In fact, the only person who didn’t realise that the Irish paramedic was going to die was Ross. Ross, who had spent all of the last two days by her side in the ambulance, changing her bandages, feeding her, waiting patiently when she passed out. It seemed that, even when she was gone, he would never quite come to terms with the loss. After all, the pair had known each other for most of their lives. Sadly, the only person also included Judy herself, who was frequently seen by any visitors to the ambulance reading through a bible or crying gently against the pillow Ross had gotten Piper to drop off.

Blackjack wasn’t sure what the group would do after the inevitable happened. They had lost one of their own before, back on day two. But the group had barely known Margaret, and had grown much closer since then. With Judy gone, Ross was the only person in the group who had any medical experience. This meant they couldn’t afford to lose him- at least not until the rescue team came.

If one was coming. But that was a different mental debate that Blackjack didn’t want to get involved in.

Put simply, Judy’s bite was horrific. It had bled openly for half an hour, but thanks to Ross, it was patched up and sealed off quickly. However, most of the camp had seen enough zombie films to know that these things which were up and moving after they shouldn’t be must carry all kinds of diseases. Most likely, this bite was unbeatable. Judy had become increasingly more off-colour, and she seemed to pass out more and more often. For that reason, Blackjack and Skyla both worried about today’s supply search, unsure if she would still be there when they got back.

Luckily for both of them, who’s sessions out in the city were becoming morbid and sullen, Blake had agreed to come out with them today. One person more meant fifty per cent more supplies, and, to an extent, a fifty per cent higher chance of survival.

Noah, in a new tactic, had given the trio specific goals and locations to try for until they had to make their way back to camp shortly before dawn.

Firstly was Blake’s house on Dixon street, which was only a couple of hours away on foot, and as Clark had agreed to lend them his Taxi, the journey would be even quicker. Secondly, the trio had strict instructions to check a local bar called The Fish Bait- which Blake had often walked past but never entered in favour of the closer-to-home bars in the area- for as many drinks as they could carry in the rundown black cab.

Although the group could expect no more than eight hours of sunlight, they knew that the taxi would condense the total time spent travelling to under three hours, meaning they had more than enough time to get the supplies they needed.

Blake, in particular, was eager to see his house again, as he had seemingly said goodbye to it when he found out about the apocalypse. However, Blackjack was more keen on getting something more appetizing to drink than barely-filtered water. For now, they walked out of the gate, side by side, trying to ignore the possibility that they would not all walk back in again.

“We will, Noah,” Blackjack called back, far from trying to hide his distraction. “We will.”

Dixon street 6/9/2014 11:00

“Which house was yours again, Blake?” Skyla asked as the three pressed on down what was left of Dixon street. They needed supplies, but weren’t sure they were desperate enough to loot another person’s home yet.

“Twenty-one. Not far from here at all.” Blake said as they passed 45, Crooked Place, and then 41. The group had had to park the taxi at the end of the street because of the sheer masses of debris on the roads.

Blackjack froze in place, his mouth forming an ‘O’ of horror.

“Holy-”

He had spotted the wrecked mini against the lamppost by Blake’s house. So what? They had seen plenty of car wrecks during the journey to the campsite after the bus incident. Unnerved, Blake peered closer, and he saw that Blackjack had been shocked not by the debris but by what was going on atop it.

A creeper stood, half-squatted like a puma about to pounce, on the red painted roof. In one hand was a long, thin, club-like object with an end split into four… no, five sections. On the other end, it broke jaggedly off into a red, gaping hole.

“No…” said Skyla, looking like she was ready to throw up.

The creeper on the car roof was holding an arm.

Blake swallowed. He unhinged the axe from his belt, span it once In his right hand, and headed towards the creeper. Quietly, he approached the creeper by crouching, who was distractedly facing the opposite direction.

“Ugh…” Blake moaned as he pulled himself up into a standing position and flung his axe down into its head.

“Damn.” Said Blackjack in the distance, watching the blood literally fly as the arm-clutching monster toppled off of the car crash, slamming against the lamppost on his way down.

Without saying a thing to his peers, Blake kicked the body out of the way and trotted towards the only thing left for him of the old world.

Dixon street 6/9/2014 11:17

“What’d you get?” Blackjack asked keenly as Blake pulled out of the house fifteen minutes into his supply search.

Blake wasn’t optimistic.

“Few bottles of water, some money… My mobile, all my food had gone off. Plus this.” He swung the guitar, still zipped up in its cocoon case, off his shoulder.

“You know how to play it?” Skyla asked.

“No clue. It belonged to my mum, I figured someone in camp must be able to make some use out of it.”

“I think Judy played.” Blackjack said.

That killed the atmosphere.

Langer Road 6/9/2014 11:49

“Could take us some more time to get to the bar Noah was talking about.” Skyla pointed out unhelpfully. She was the first to of spoken since the three had climbed back into the taxi and began the journey to The Fish Bait. Truthfully, it seemed that the journey would be harder than it looked with the amount of crashed cars in the area.

“Don’t you worry, hon. We’ll be there before Twelve.” Blake promised, seeming more than confident in his navigation skills. Skyla, however, fell sceptically quieter.

“Yeah, if you’re sure.”

Yarranton Close 6/9/2014 12:31

At exactly thirty-one minutes past twelve, Blake, Blackjack and Skyla pulled up in the taxi at the street corner opposite the entrance to The Fish Bait. The building was run down and dusty as a carnival caravan. Shaped like a rectangle, it overhung by a minute amount off of the street corner. One thing that the place had a lot of was windows, although all of them were draped on the inside by night-black veil-like curtains. Not one of the windows were open.

“Creepy, much?” Blackjack said, leading the reluctant line towards two heavy-looking black doors. When they arrived outside, none of them particularly wanting to go in (Blackjack had seemingly forgotten his lust for drinks) and so they paused on the empty pavement outside.

“Any creepers inside, we take them down quietly and quickly.” He said.

“What if there’s more than we can handle?” Skyla pointed out. Blackjack's face fell. He hadn’t, as of yet, thought of that.

“Run. Run like hell.” Blake replied for him. Blackjack gritted his teeth and pushed on the handle. The doors swung open…

“Huh. Empty” muttered Skyla.

Blake stepped into the room first. He looked around at the weary tables, all circular and each surrounded by three red-topped stools. Opposite was the bar itself, twenty foot long and with an overhang above it from the ceiling so that you would have to crouch to climb through. As Blake glanced at the largely antlered moose head- clearly faker than a supermodel’s nose, Blake noted- Blackjack ran past Blake and threw himself through the gap in the bar to check on the drinks supplies. The rest of the place seemed untouched, Blake thought, so there was little chance that any drinks had been looted.

Whooping loudly, Blackjack bent down, yanked the mini fridge open and took out three cans of Pepsi. He passed one to Skyla, who had just climbed behind the bar, and tossed the other one enthusiastically to Blake, who barely caught it. It was ice-cold in his hands, like one he had just bought from the shops. Blake grinned; today was looking up.

Crack. Pstttt.

Crack. Psssst.

“Now all we need is the lemon slice.” Said Skyla.

The Fish Bait 6/9/2014 12:45

After three minutes of searching, Blake, Blackjack, and Skyla had given up on the quest to find the key to the alcohol fridge. It had been locked, unlike the soft drinks- but Skyla decided that was a good thing. All of them getting drunk just wouldn’t help. Once they had loaded all of the cans, bottles and crisp packets into the taxi, they headed back into the pub to grab whatever money may have been in the counter.

“Noah said we’d need cash in case we came across some sort of trade.” Blackjack said, as he went to open the till.

Skyla looked at Blake sceptically.

“You think there’ll be anything left in there?” she asked.

“Well, nothing else was taken…” Blake argued, trying to be optimistic.

“Nobody thinks ahead. Could have been looted back when nobody realised that cans of Pepsi would be more valuable than money and cigarettes.” Blake couldn’t think of a counterargument to that.

“Damn” Interrupted Blackjack abruptly.

“What is it?” asked Blake and Skyla in unison, as Blake rushed over to the till.

“Drawer won’t open. You need a passcode to get it to turn on.” Blake's face fell.

“You tried turning it off and on again?” asked Skyla jokingly.

“Not the time.” Blake said, irritated. Pressing all the buttons he could find, Blackjack tried and failed to guess the passcode.

“What kind of passcode?” Skyla asked, beginning to get anxious.

“It’s four digits… I tried the obvious ones, One-two-three-four, nought-nought-nought-nought. You know, like a person who was likely to forget it would of set.”

Skyla glided over, her mallet in one hand.

“Move. I can fix this.” She said confidently. Almost effortlessly, she smashed her hammer with such force that Blake was surprised it didn’t shatter into the side of the till drawer. The hinges inside gave way and the drawer popped open slightly. In shock, Blackjack pulled it fully open, revealing at least five hundred pounds.

“Problem solved.” She said, walking back to the door.

Click.

A dinner bell on a megaphone, a sudden, high-pitched wailing sound filled the room as it blurted out of interior and exterior speakers. Skyla's eyes grew wide, her mallet dropping out of her hands and hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

“The burglar alarm! It’s going to attract the creepers!” Skyla yelled, rushing to the exit with the taxi in sight.

“Christ. Shut it off! We need to shut it off!” Blackjack screamed.

However, as Blake got outside to open the taxi doors, he immediately knew it was too late. A horde of at least forty creepers were clambering down the wide road towards the source of the noise- the food. They were thickly lined throughout the width of the street, coming at a speed only slightly below average walking pace.

“We are not getting through that!” Skyla shouted. “Get the taxi started, we can drive it the other way!”

‘The other way’ was not an option either. Pouring out from either side of an upturned, leaking oil carrier blocking the road was a steady stream of rotting, walking corpses.

“Back inside, Back inside!” Blackjack said after surveying the damage for a few seconds. Slamming the double doors shut, Blackjack turned and grabbed a broomstick from the bar and slid it between the door handles. It locked the door well just as the sounds of moaning came close and the doors began to budge as much as they could, like they wanted to let out a flood. Still not satisfied, Skyla got behind an unused snooker table resting in a far corner and pushed it (It was modernized with wheels) right up against the door. Blake caught on and helped her lift it so it rested vertically against the doors, leaning as extra support for when the plastic broomstick handle bended.

Skyla looked around, exhausted. “Please tell me there’s no back door.”

As soon as it had come up, the snooker table tipped and began its decent down, onto Skyla.

“No!” Blackjack cried, running into her and knocking her away from the falling table. Blake moved just before it came slamming down onto his feet.

The plastic, soft handle hadn’t lasted long. It had already snapped in half, allowing for the doors to swing open freely. As they opened, all the dead in a mile radius began to pour in, climbing the snooker table and fixated on either Blackjack and Skyla, who were still huddled on the floor, or Blake, who stood frozen in shock in the doorway.

Hell was unleashed.