Part 11 (1/2)

”No,” he said. ”Well fill the bags. The fruit will do us for food and water. Twelve each per day should be about right.” He was about to take another bite when a wasp landed on his hand. He watched it crawl over his hand towards a spot of juice and then fly up and onto the pear. Carefully, slowly, he put it down on the ground.

”Wouldnt harm a fly,” Greta said with an attempt at a smile.

”Not when I dont have to,” Chester said. ”Not anymore.”

On two wheels, they made better time. When they found the way blocked by the undead, sometimes they fought, sometimes they fled, and sometimes they cycled straight through them. The choice often wasnt theirs. The frequent storms and recent rain had washed the soil off many fields. The narrower roads were often coated in a layer of mud too thick to cycle through. Minutes became hours, and their progress took them south as much as east.

”I think those are carrots!” Finnegan suddenly yelled. Before Chester had time to brake, the other man had dropped his bike and climbed into a field. He reached down and wrenched at a patch of leaves, coming up with a handful of small, stunted, bug-eaten stumps that were coated with black and white mould. No one spoke as Finnegan climbed back over the fence, picked up his bike, and set off, faster than before.

”You see that,” Greta said pointing at a sweeping field of green and amber. ”I reckon thats barley.”

”Could be wheat. Or oats. But whatever it was, the zombies beat us to it,” Chester said, sparing a glance from the road to watch the undead tramp their way through a golden field whose edges were already choked with weeds.

The further they got from the coast the more fields they saw with crops still in them. The barley was replaced with rapeseed and then with lavender. All reminders that not all that was grown was meant for food, and that which was they had no way of gathering.

”Hives,” Finnegan said.

Chester nodded. Hed seen them too. No one suggested they try and stop.

”Alright, thats it,” Chester said, bringing his bike to a halt.

”What?” Greta asked.

Chester pointed at a cl.u.s.ter of steel chimneys sticking up beyond a distant hill. ”That. I dont know what it is, but this road leads straight there. I dont fancy going through it, so well have to go around, and that can wait until tomorrow.” He gestured towards a paddock. ”Well try over that way, and see if we can find a house or barn, or anything with a roof to keep out the rain and walls to keep out the undead.”

”People have been here,” Greta said when they were halfway across the paddock.

”They might have,” Chester said.

”No. I mean they definitely have been,” she said. ”Look at that tree.”

”It doesnt look any different to the others.”

”Then look at the hedge,” Greta said.

”What for?” Chester asked. ”Just tell me, Im too tired to guess.”

”Theres no blackberries,” she said. ”And theres no fruit on that tree.”

”It looks like a horse chestnut,” Chester said.

”Look at the leaves. Theyre the same as the one in the orchard. Its a pear tree.”

Chester squinted. The leaves were green. That was about as detailed a description as he felt confident to give. ”Then the birds beat us to it. Or the insects,” he said. ”Or more likely youre wrong about what type of tree it is.”

”Im not,” Greta said. Shed gone a little ahead and was bent low over a ditch just beyond the tree. ”Come and see.” They did.

”That,” she said, pointing at a rotting pear, ”is a bite mark. So either the zombies are developing a healthier diet, or there are people nearby. People who stripped those bushes and this tree.”

”Yeah.” Chester peered at the decaying fruit. ”About a week ago? Less? Not today though,” he murmured. Then he straightened, looked down the lane, and then at the fields. ”Right, yeah. So...” The other two looked at him expectantly. ”People,” Chester said slowly. ”Enough of them to collect the fruit from the bushes. Thats... something. Its not just survival, thats actually living.”

”And?” Finnegan prompted.

”And what?”

”Well, do we look for them?”

Chester laughed. ”Of course.”

It was easier said than done. There were no footprints to follow, no beckoning plumes of smoke to head towards. Beyond the field was a lane, and they followed it simply because theyd seen no signs of life in the direction theyd come. After theyd pa.s.sed another paddock, the lane branched. They went left until they reached a crossroads and then followed a path up a hill.

”Its getting late,” Chester said. ”Were tired. We need to stop. And at least we know that those homes are empty.” He pointed down the hill at a housing estate still under construction. The houses to the right of the graded but unpaved road had roofs, and most had doors. The ones to the left were just skeleton frames. Closer to the road there was nothing more than string markers indicating where the properties were to have been built.

Theyd just pa.s.sed the first of those string-marked plots when a zombie staggered out of one of the gaping doorways. It snarled as it lumbered forward, and fell straight down into the hole dug for the next houses foundations. Chester tried to laugh, but all he managed was a weary sigh. Slowly he trudged up the road.

”You want me to finish it?” Finnegan asked.

Chester looked down into the hole. The creature was rolling back and forth, its legs churning the shallow puddle into muddy froth. ”Leave it. Well try over there,” he said, pointing towards the finished houses. He doubted it was alone, and had that suspicion confirmed when another zombie stumbled out from behind a vacant house.

”Whose turn is it?” Greta asked, sounding as exhausted as Chester felt.

”Ill do it,” Chester said, dropping his bicycle to the ground. He unslung the mace and noticed the strap was getting frayed. Focus, he told himself.

The zombie was wearing camouflage, and not the off-colour variety sold in surplus stores. Grunting with tiredness, he swung the mace low, breaking the creatures knee. He skipped back a pace as it fell forward, brought the mace up again, and smashed it down. It took two blows before the creature stopped moving. He took out his long hunting knife and prodded around the zombies collar.

”What are you doing?” Greta asked.

”Checking for I.D.,” he said. ”And there isnt any. This wasnt a soldier.”

”Is that important?” she asked.

”I dont know.”

”Theres another,” Finnegan said. ”Ive got this one.” He lumbered forward, axe half raised, swinging it in a lazy stroke that missed the creatures head and sliced across its chest. The zombies hands swiped out. Finnegan swung a hasty backhand, smas.h.i.+ng the flat of the blade into the zombies face as its other clawing hand raked down on his arm. He kicked the creature in the leg, but there was little force to the blow. The zombie rocked back, and then Greta was there, punching her axe into its skull.

”You all right?” Chester asked, his eyes on the blood beading up from the wheals on the mans arm.

”Just a scratch,” Finnegan said with an attempt at nonchalance. ”Three scratches by the look of it.”

Chester nodded. The words of comfort that sprang to his lips seemed trite after Reeces death, so he said nothing.

The next zombie they saw was wearing the many-layered stained and torn clothing of an evacuee, and it was already dead. So was the next, and the one after that. As they moved further into the construction site, Chester realised they were following a trail of bodies, all leading to the more finished properties furthest from the road.

”I think we found who was harvesting that food,” Chester said, looking at the pile of the twice-dead around the front door of a house at the far edge of the estate.

”That ones been shot,” Greta said, pointing. ”And that one.”

”You two stay here,” Chester said.

”What for?” Greta asked.