“Too right. That’s the one that belonged to Stank.”
Blue grimaced in disbelief. “They made it this far?”
Yellow nodded in the darkness. “It would appear that way, and I bet they’re sitting pretty inside that camp there.”
“Not for long. When Grout finds out about this all hell is gonna break loose. We’ll get the little bastards, just you wait and see.”
Six
Captain Cardell joined his friend and colleague Sergeant Hopkins on the lookout platform overseeing the once bustling sports complex. The summer night felt cool but pleasant. Hopkins carried the rifle as his captain lit a cigarette.
“Why do you do it?” the sergeant asked as Cardell expelled grey mist into the air.
“What?”
“This. Lookout duty and all the other hands on stuff? You’re the leader of this camp, you don’t need to do it.”
“I’m setting an example for my men,” he replied before taking another drag. “Soldiers respect a superior who gets his hands dirty. With this new world now upon us, I don’t want to give a reason to anyone who might try and start a mutiny.”
A few infected had found their way to the gates of the stadium, but none paid any attention to their surroundings as they staggered like drunkards across the complex.
Cardell scoured the darkness illuminated in patches by flood lights that still worked. The monotonous, low drone of a thousand voices emerged from across the distance.
“You hear that?” Cardell asked, reaching to the platform to grab a pair of binoculars.
“Yes. You often find herds of the brain dead wandering along the road up there. Few manage to turn and head on to the complex. Most seem to stumble their way towards the industrial estate.”
“No, not that. I hear something else within the voices.” Cardell made out a rattling, metallic groan as though some kind of mass vehicle had taken to the road.
Hopkins nodded. “Now you mention it, yeah, I do hear something.”
“It sounds like…” Cardell scoured the road. There it was. “A Challenger 2.”
Heading toward them appeared one Challenger 2, a standard battle tank used by the army. The vehicle rattled and clunked as its tracks rotated, pushing the vehicle onward. Behind the army vehicle a mass of brain dead followed.
“I don’t believe it,” Hopkins said as the tank drew closer. “Is that ours?”
“Has to be. No one else has access to these.”
“You want me to open the gates?”
Cardell shook his head. “No. Play it safe for the time being.”
The Challenger turned onto the car park and approached the stadium. Masses of brain dead followed.
“Shit,” Hopkins blurted, “they’re following it.”
“Take your stations!” Cardell yelled, rallying his troops. A mass of footfalls thudded to life as each soldier adopted their specified position. All area weaknesses became covered by guns. The Challenger rattled to a standstill a few feet from the stadium gates.
Cardell peered on, waiting for something to happen. After a moment, the hatch squeaked and rose upward. Cardell frowned. Standing from inside the tank a dirty faced clown appeared. His head bore no hair. Piercings littered his ears and nose. His torso hid behind a faux fur coat. Its sleeves had been removed exposing the clown’s tattooed skin on both arms. The face paint strewn across his features had been smudged and distorted. Cardell believed black lips and eye sockets had existed there at one time. The clown looked to them without uttering a word.
“Well, this is uncomfortable,” Hopkins said, breaking the silence.
Cardell peered upon the weirdo standing from the hatch. The firepower the clown bore did indeed make him uncomfortable.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Cardell asked, as groups of brain dead began to snarl against the stadium gates.
“I’m known as Grout. A group of school kids and their teacher are taking shelter in your camp. Hand them over to me now. I have unfinished business with them.”
“School kids? I can’t say as I have any, or a school teacher for that matter. What unfinished business did you need them for? Is there anything I can help with instead?”
“They killed my brother. I want them all. Now.”
“I told you, pal. We haven’t seen any kids around here. There’s been no one by here in weeks.”
Grout reached down producing a sword from inside the Challenger.
“You see this?” he asked, raising the sword into the air, “this belonged to my brother. It was stolen from his body when he was murdered.”
Cardell shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t recognise it.”
“It was found outside your gate only a few hours ago. I call bullshit on your behalf, Captain, sir. I want them handed to me right here right now. Where are they?” Grout threw the weapon against the metal gate, causing it to clatter.
“I told you I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you want to get aggressive with me, son, I strongly suggest you reconsider. I have hundreds of rifles all pointing in your direction. I have anti-tank missile launchers ready to engage. I have the authority to shoot on site anyone who places this camp and its inhabitants in danger. Grit, Grunt or whatever your damn name is, I suggest you turn your stolen tank around and get the hell out of my area before you start a fight you cannot finish.”
Grout considered this a moment. He stood within the pleasant summer breeze as it glided over and around the brain dead. Cardell had dismissed them for the moment, confident in the strength of the stadium’s perimeter.
Grout nodded his head whilst holding his hands in the air.
“Okay, my bad. I guess intimidating the army with their own weapons was always going to be a long shot. For that, sir, I apologise. By the way, there’s a camp in the next county completely destroyed. We assumed this was no longer required and took it for ourselves. It wasn’t us who caused the
