The fire was spreading quickly by the time Ryan turned and chased after him.
“What’s the plan then?” he asked.
“Keep walking,” Cahz said without slowing his pace. “We’ve got about four hours before it goes dark.”
“Keep walking, eh?” Ryan questioned.
“Keep walking,” Cahz said back, his eyes on the path ahead.
The two men walked on in silence. They weaved their way down the shattered streets of what was once a desirable housing development. The executive cars that would have seen a wax and polish every Sunday afternoon now sat on flat tires, quietly rusting away. The once perfectly tended lawns were choked with weeds and ornamental bushes gone feral.
The odd zombie that stumbled into their path was quickly dispatched by the irate Cahz. The venomous soldier would simply march up to the wailing creature and fire a shot into its skull from point-blank range.
Ryan’s feet felt raw and blistered, his legs were burning from the exertion, and his lungs were scorched with the effort of breathing against the weight on his chest. The forced march was ripping at every muscle in his body. But he dared not complain.
Ahead of them, atop a rise, was what would once have been the home of a company executive, large and imposing, an expansive garden with a tall fence. The building though had caught fire at some point. The roof was gone and the windows were boarded up. The entrance gates lay twisted and useless in the driveway.
As they marched past a zombie lurched out at them. It was naked other than a pair of army style boots and its skin was blackened from grime and dirt. Cahz automatically strode up to the creature so he could put a shot in its brain, but all of a sudden the zombie snapped to a halt. It strained but it couldn’t move any closer.
Cahz stopped and lowered his gun.
“What is it?” Ryan asked.
As he caught up, Ryan could see a burnt-out corpse on the driveway of the gutted house. Snaking up the paving stones was a chain attached to the husk.
Ryan put the heavy bag of provisions down on the ground. His fingers were red where the thin straps bit into his joints. He looked more closely at the zombie that struggled to get them. Around its neck, there too was a thick chain. The metal links bit deep and raw into the dead flesh. The blood encrusted links trailed off to a padlock secured to a fixture in the solid fencing.
“Guard dogs?” Ryan asked.
“Hell of a bite,” Cahz muttered.
He turned his back and marched off, leaving the zombie to strain against its chains. Ryan looked at the pitiful creature chained in the front yard of the burnt out house. Now that he looked he could see the weeds were trampled flat within its range.
“Why would you do that?” Ryan asked no one.
Then it struck him that the house had its windows boarded up. The sort of thing a homeowner would do after a fire or to protect it if it were being left uninhabited. Ryan looked more closely at the soot smudged plywood. Under the smoke damage he could make out writing: ‘LOOTERS WILL BE SHOT!’ with a skull and cross bones underneath.
Then a second warning on a different window: ‘INFECTED WILL BE SHOT!’, again with the skull and cross bones motif.
Ryan was about to leave when he noticed a less prominent sign. On the driveway there was something scrawled in orange spray paint. He skirted past the tethered guard zombie and towards the house for a better view.
Written on the paving stones was the simple line, ‘DICKS WILL BE TORCHED!’
“Hurry up!” Cahz called in the distance.
Ryan turned from reading the epitaph, picked up his bag and hurried downhill to catch up.
“Did you see that?” he puffed.
“See what?” Cahz asked in tone that showed he didn’t really care.
“Back there,” Ryan said. “That house was burnt down deliberately.”
“So what?”
Ryan started to explain, “There was some graffiti. It-”
“I don’t give a shit, Ryan,” Cahz said.
“Oh,” Ryan said, thwarted by the uncaring reply.
He stood for a moment, stunned by the soldier’s ambivalence. The plastic straps of the carrier bag were becoming thin and taut, stretched out by the weight of the cans. Ryan rested the cumbersome bag on the ground and let the circulation flow back round his fingers. Cahz wasn’t waiting for him. The angry soldier continued marching off into the rain. Ryan slipped his fingers into the wet plastic handles and lifted the bag back up. Reluctantly he started walking again, the hard lips of the cans bouncing off the side of his leg as he moved.
“What now?” Ryan asked, looking out at the lake.
Cahz was standing astride two lichen-mottled concrete bollards to get a more elevated view. Ryan recalled seeing a similar stance in a picture book at school: the Colossus of Rhodes guarding an ancient harbour, the stone giant facing out to the dangerous Mediterranean Sea.
Before Cahz lay an expanse of water not marked on the puny map he held. He looked out at the murky waters. The steady rain was beating into the surface, making the stagnant pool ripple. Here and there little rusted islands emerged from the depths, the tops of partially submerged cars. Water-loving weeds had congregated around the banks of the pool, some even finding anchorage on the wrecks.
“I think this used to be a car park,” Ryan said, scratching his chin. “Yeah,” he said, more confidently. “That big building was a super store. I guess the water can’t be more than three or four feet deep.”
A fresh moan chased after them from down the road.
“Well, what do we do?” Ryan asked. “Do we wade through or go around?”
Cahz hopped down from his perch, the loose ammo jingling in his pockets. “Fuck knows what’s waiting under that water,” he said with a stern voice. He turned ninety degrees and started skirting the lake edge.
“This is going to take ages to get around,” Ryan called after him.
“Best make a start then,” Cahz said without looking back.
Ryan looked up at the sky. The rain splashed down on his face, it soaked through his hair and trickled down his neck to be wicked up by his shirt. He wasn’t sure if the rain clouds had become heavier or if it actually had become darker. One thing he knew, it was impossible to get any wetter. His jeans were a saturated dark blue and stuck to his thighs. With every step forward he had to carry his own weight, the weight of his child and the resistance from the clinging clothing. Each pace he took forward was slower and shorter than the last. Step by step he was losing pace with Cahz.
A fresh gust of wind gave Ryan a cold clout. He shivered. His whole rib cage felt like it was contracting in on him as he shuddered.
Cahz was up ahead, just sidestepping a weed-draped shopping trolley.
Ryan opened the rucksack strapped to his chest. The child inside was still dry and warm and best of all, sleeping. He pulled the zipper up over the child’s head, leaving a gap at the side for ventilation.
“Better get moving or I’ll freeze to death,” Ryan said to the sleeping child as he strode off after Cahz.
He trudged forward on the moss-covered road, the spongy plants squelching with every step.
“Cahz!” he shouted.
“Keep up,” Cahz absently called back.
“No, Cahz, look at this.” Ryan had spotted something on the other side of the lake.
Cahz turned round. “What is it?”
“Look over there.” Ryan pointed to the slope on the far side.
“It’s an embankment up to a flyover,” Cahz observed. “So what?”
