As time passed, a subtle, but tangible, air of tension was building among the soldiers. At first, they had seemed tired but still friendly, exchanging banter with each other and the survivors. Now, when they returned to camp, they were quiet and subdued, shoulders slumped and heads down. Fewer and fewer survivors were arriving at the camp and those that did were in a bad way, either physically, when they were taken straight to the quarantine area, or mentally, when they were clearly exhausted, and deeply traumatised.
The number of infected that were getting onto the airfield was increasing, too. At first, only one or two a day had reached the camp perimeter. That had grown into a slow but steady trickle when, every hour or so, one would emerge from the treeline and weave across the open ground towards the runway. Initially, the patrols had dealt with them easily, but by Thursday, the trickle had become a steady flow and, outnumbered, the soldiers were forced to retreat back inside the camp. They still patrolled the fence, but now dealt with the clamouring groups of infected outside from behind the safety of the barriers.
By Friday, the bursts of gunfire that had previously been sporadic and alarming, had become part of the regular background noise in the camp. Occasionally, a particularly large group of infected would threaten to breach the perimeter simply through the pressure of bodies surging against the fence. It would sway and lean inwards precariously provoking screams of terror from nearby survivors. There would be running and shouting and gunfire for a while until order was restored.
There were piles of bodies accumulating around the outside of the fence. The stench permeated into the camp, especially when the wind blew in the wrong direction. At first, groups of soldiers had gone out in trucks to try and clear them but latterly they had given up what was proving to be a pointless task.
Lisa occasionally saw Rick coming and going in the midst of it all, but he either didn't recognise her or was ignoring her. He was unshaven and had a new gaunt, hollow-eyed look about him that she didn't like. It made her nervous.
She suspected that the military were gradually losing control. Everything pointed to it. The trucks rarely went out anymore. The helicopters only made a couple of trips a day now. How much fuel did they have? How much ammunition? How much food and water? She got the feeling that they were waiting now as well, keeping up appearances but waiting to be told what to do next, just like the survivors. The other survivors appeared oblivious, just content to be alive and to wait until someone else sorted it all out for them. They seemed paralysed by inertia. Lost in their own little worlds of shock, grief and denial.
The deception was easy to maintain because the military didn't mix with the survivors. There was a firm and deliberate us and them culture. They slept and ate in different areas. They were in charge and they made that very clear. They communicated formally with the survivors only when they had to, and that was not very often. If anyone asked what was going on and what the plan was, they always got the same answer. They were searching for survivors. Trying to get them all to safety and stop the spread of infection. There was no mention of what would happen after that. Lisa was sure they didn't know.
From her discreet observation point, she had tried to work out how many of them there were. There had always been three or four groups of two or three soldiers out in the trucks or helicopters, and a guard patrol of another two or three. Including the catering team, the medic and the register boy, there could only have been about 20 of them at the most. Not enough to protect hundreds of survivors from the thousands of walking dead that seemed to be headed their way.
By the Friday evening, Lisa was sure that all was not well in the camp, and that it was only a matter of time before the safe zone was no longer going to be safe. In fact, it was in danger of becoming a potential death trap. It was now over a week since she had awoken to the horror on the train, and the urge to get home was stronger than ever. She felt good now, too. Fully recovered and reenergised. Her headache was gone completely, and she felt fresh and alert. It was time to go.
After dinner, she asked Anita to go for a walk with her. They walked away from the survivor tents towards the edge of the camp. It was a clear moonlit night. There was no breeze, and the smell of death was strong. The groans of the undead seemed to come from all around them. Bursts of gunfire rattled in the background every few minutes. She stopped at the pile of pallets under the oak tree and sat down. She patted the space beside her, but Anita stayed standing.
"What's going on, Lisa?"
"I'm leaving in the morning. You don't have to come, but I'd really like you to. It's not safe here anymore."
The girl didn't speak.
"We were never going to stay here forever, Nite. Come on. You knew that. I know you think it's safe here but just look around you. Listen! We're surrounded. They're losing control, and the people here are all asleep! They're in total denial. When it all goes wrong - and it will, very soon, believe me - it's going to be really bad. All these people in one confined space! It doesn't bear thinking about. I honestly think we should take our chances outside again, before it all kicks off."
"Oh Jesus, Lisa! Just say
