Chapter Nineteen

Alive or dead, the truth won't rest.

-Feed

Tucker and Yana entered first, chattering in low voices about something or other, and Liza took a few quick steps to catch up, noting that the entrance at least was strewn in ugly, flimsy camo clothing that had been torn off the racks. The BB guns had been looted almost completely, along with most BB ammo, but a few other things remained. Heavy military-style jackets had been raided, but there were a couple of sizes left. Liza wasted no time in gathering them up and laying all the thickest that she could find on the counter.

“You want us to wear those?” Yana asked, trying her hardest not to pinch her face in an expression of distaste.

Liza shook her head. “No, actually,” she said. “We can use the headsets to integrate the integrity of these heavy jackets into our existing clothes. I feel like it’ll be advantageous, down the line, to pack more of a punch than other people expect us to. In case someone wants to take us by surprise.”

Tucker smirked. “I have to ask. Did that guy actually shoot you? With a real gun?”

Liza tutted and lifted up her shirt, ignoring the bloom of red that appeared on Tucker’s ears when she did, and showed the dark, perfect circle of blood beneath the bandage. “Point blank,” she said. “I don’t know if I would have survived it without the headset. The shock and the pain were muted, I think. I dunno -- I’ve never been shot before.”

Tucker swallowed. “I think I would have killed him,” he said after a second. “Up there, on the hill. But I’m glad you didn’t.”

She eyed him for a second, watching Yana in her periphery pretending to search through rifle scopes. “I think I am too,” Liza said, but she didn’t know if that was the truth. Killing someone was hard. It was almost impossible -- she had been able to do it to save her own life, but she felt a little sick whenever she thought about it.

The guy had been talking one second, and then the next second his brains were spilled out all over her hardwood floors. It hadn’t been a pleasant way to go. Liza was lucky that she had been taught how to skin and gut furry friends, because she might have swiftly lost her lunch if she was in no way desensitised to gore like that.

“Liza?”

Her eyes flicked back over to Tucker and she smiled. He grinned back. “Thought we’d lost you there.”

“You’re going to have to work harder than that if you want to get rid of me,” she joked, but her heart wasn’t in it. “Look hard for useful things. We’ll go get the sturdiest coach we can find -- I’m hoping the other survivors have already left, but maybe they haven’t.”

“The buses down at the depot are flimsy,” Tucker said.

“Full of trash,” Yana agreed, flipping through the camo pants and looking bored.

“I mean they’re cheap. There are real coaches. You know, streamlined, with a toilet and stuff on board. And TVs. They’re up on campus.”

Liza turned to Tucker with interest. “Oh yeah? That sounds easier to upgrade, and a lot more pleasant than riding hundreds of miles on a dirty public bus.”

“They’re built for long journeys, too,” Tucker added. “And they just have one solid door instead of two weak ones, like a public bus. We’ll just wait for the others and then head up there, I guess.”

With a short nod, she strolled around the perimeter of the store, wondering if the others had run into any issues, and figuring out what would be useful to grab and what would just weigh them down.

A sign by the stairs said in an ugly scrawl, ‘There’s More Down Stairs!’ and she looked at the utility belts on the wall beside it for a moment before descending.

“Scream if there’s trouble,” she said to the others as she descended into the depths of the store.

At the bottom of the uneven wooden steps was a whole other level, but down here the wares were much more interesting. Liza guessed that they eyed people up at the counter and didn’t just let any old schmuck down here to search through the high-value stuff. At the far end was a cluster of radios of varying shapes and sizes. Liza knew enough to use one, but no more than that -- she had no knowledge of engineering or anything like that, but if she could grab a couple they would be very useful for communication. And she knew that Celia would be able to keep them in working order for as long as possible.

When she approached them another thought occurred to her and before she swept them into her bag she clicked one of them on and fiddled with its frequency a little, listening to the gentle whistling, fuzzing, and then clicking noises until…

“...ent...cant…ury...”

And then back to buzzing. She held her breath and poked out her tongue and very slowly dialled it back until the voice was audible but croaking like a frog, and then she ticked it forward again.

“...ing for survivors.”

And then nothing.

Liza smoothed her hand over the radio side until she pressed down a button. “Hello?” she spoke in its general vicinity. Theoretically she knew about radios -- her father had been sure to convey to them that they would be important communication devices, but she wasn’t sure if she had ever actually held one more advanced than a children’s walkie talkie, of which she owned three. “Hello? Uhh … this is a survivor in Fairacres. Who is there? Can you … fuck … can you hear me?” She let go of the button and searched the radio again to make sure she had been doing the right thing to transmit anything.

“Hello? This is Flight Lieutenant Jake Jameson of the-- fuck it. What is your location and how dangerous is it? Over”

Liza fumbled for the radio button again. “Shit, uh, mayday. Danger. Affirmative.” She shut her eyes and shook her head. “I’m Liza … you didn’t ask that. Fairacres. I’m in Fairacres.”

“There is a significant fire in your location, over.”

“Where are you? Flight Lieutenant? Are you in a plane nearby?” A pause. “Hello?”

“You’re kind of supposed to say ‘over’. It’s fine, though. We’re in a helicopter above Fairacres. Over.”

Liza’s heart leapt and she lifted the radio closer to her lips so quickly that her thumb brushed the dial and it faded into fuzz. She swore and altered the frequency back. “You’ve come to save us?” she asked, feeling her hands begin to tremble with relief. “You’re the RAF, right? The military?”

Another pause. “Oh. Over.”

“Yeah, just thinking. We are … not here to rescue you.” She heard the crackle of the radio and swallowed, waiting for the rest of his message. Her hands continued to tremble, but the reason was not the same. “We’re on a self-appointed scouting mission. We’re just trying to gauge the threat levels in the rest of the country. There’s a military base down here that went dark.” Another hissing silence. “Sorry. Over.”

“That’s alright, you’re in a helicopter and you’re going back to London?” Liza asked. “You can pick me and my friends up, and take us there? It’s dangerous on the roads. We might be stuck here,” she half-lied; she had no idea if their travel plans would work out.

“I don’t know about that. I think it’s a negative,” the Flight Lieutenant said slowly. His voice sounded unsure. Inexperienced. Liza wondered what he meant by a self-appointed helicopter mission. It didn’t sound like a real thing. Paranoia flared in her gut but she pushed it down. There was genuinely no reason for anyone to lie to her.

She wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Listen to me,” she said. “Listen carefully, because I don’t want to say this more than once. I don’t know who is listening.” She tried to sound as covert and yet as trustworthy as possible. “I know how this happened. I know the origin and I think I know how to stop it. But I need to get to London. Can you help me?”

“Negative. This is … hold on, please.” The line became dead air for almost thirty seconds, and Liza found herself turning in antsy circles. “Who … are you? Come in.”

“My name is Liza Volkov,” she said. “I was there at the outbreak and I know what happened. Is there anyone ranked higher than you?” She was really playing with fire now. She had a sneaking suspicion that the Flight Lieutenant she was speaking to was a recent promotion, and speaking to anyone higher up might force her into lying. She did believe that finding Malcolm was the only way to stop this, but she didn’t know where he was. He owned a mansion in London, but that didn’t mean he was there. Finding him also didn’t mean she could stop him, but what else was there to do?

“No. Negative. Me, my pilot and an officer cadet. We were drawn by the column of smoke from your location. Interrogative--”

“It used to be Fairacres Cathedral,” Liza cut in grimly.

A brief hiss. “Shit,” the Flight Lieutenant said.

“Listen. Please land and we can discuss this in person,” Liza said, shifting from foot to foot. “We need to get to London.”

“Are there many of you?”

Liza swallowed; the question gave her prickles at the back of her neck. “Yes, but a whole lot less than we started the day off with.”

“I hear you.” A pause. Liza was afraid to wander too far in case she lost him. “You don’t want to go to London.”

“Why?”

“The … everyone is gone. Pretty much. The streets are…” The radio crackled as he blew out a heavy breath on the other end. “We’re under martial law. Everyone is being conscripted. I just got promoted three hours ago.”

“I knew it,” Liza said under her breath before pressing the button again. But then his words hit her. “Everyone is being conscripted?”

“The fight against the fucking walking dead outside is getting worse every day. You are in the city, and you’re not a child? You have to fight. People have tried to leave but we’ve seen pileups everywhere. Destruction. Dead people creating more dead people. It’s like the least fun game of dominos ever.”

She cracked a smile. “You’re more than welcome to come play with us, JJ. Over.”

“Hold your position. We haven’t contacted anyone else all day, and if you think you can stop this … I barely even care if you’re crazy at this point.” He cut himself off in the middle of a dry chuckle.

Liza was about to speak, but then closed her mouth again. London had fallen. “Where the hell am I supposed to bring my people?” she asked, but nobody answered. “Come in, Flight Lieutenant, sir. We can’t just stay here.” She shook her head and threw the radio into her bag, and then swept a bunch more inside too. “Fuck.” She walked in a couple of tight circles and clenched her fists. London had fallen to the apocalypse. The help was there, but … it wasn’t helping.

So what the hell were they supposed to do now?

And who exactly had she just summoned to her location?