As you know, Freya, I am not the most patient of individuals, so it took every sinuous thread of my self-control to not press down on the accelerator. Driving so slowly, when consumed with worry for my friends, was absolute torture. The smart thing to do, sure, but oh my God, excruciating on my nerves.
It took me a good twenty-five minutes of careful driving, as I was checking every which way for encroaching undead or asshole survivors. Added to this was the need to approach off the beaten track until I reached the right-hand turn to the road where the yard was located.
For the first two hundred yards, there are rows of small terrace houses either side, their front doors virtually on the pavement, before you pass a small café-diner on the left and a scrap metal place on the right. Right after the diner there’s a left turn which takes you into a small estate of static homes, those little bungalows that old people retire to. Beyond that is another little left turn which leads into a small cluster of industrial units where there is a carpet seller, a garage and tyre place, and other small independent businesses. That little pocket of industrial units backs on to the edge of the large builder’s yard, which is just before the main road goes up a slight incline towards some more little side roads and industrial units.
I stopped as I came towards the end of those darkened houses and swore quietly to myself. Through my infrared filter, I could see a mass of undead idling outside the gate and spilling into it beyond my sight. There was no way I was getting any closer without potentially alerting them, so I reversed quietly back down the road a little way, did a neat parallel park against the kerb, and switched off the engine.
I was fighting a growing panic by this point. Seeing that horde blocking the gate of the yard had my mind spinning towards a dark place, and I was terrified that my three friends had already been added to that mass. I’ve discovered, however, that I’m surprisingly good at only having that brief flicker of fear, before I bite down on it and spit it out for a while. When shit needs to get done, I think I’m surprisingly good at keeping my head on track. Act now, and deal with the emotions later seems to be my way of things.
The only time I’ve failed in that is when you asked me to shoot you, Freya.
Okay, I’m not going back down that road right now. Concentrate on recording events in your own inimitable style, Lockey. You’re a bard, so bard this shit up.
I couldn’t get past the horde in any way, but I had to get into the builder’s yard somehow. My best course of action was to advance on foot, cut into the cluster of business units and go over the fence into the builder’s yard, so that’s exactly what I did.
Holy shit, Freya; that was the scariest two minutes of my life to date, scarier even then when I was running through the woods outside Castle Bancroftstein. Alone, in the silent darkness, a filtered green perspective layered over my sight, heading towards a horde of undead. I had no idea if there were any wandering around the small business park beside it but reasoned any undead would have been drawn by whatever pulled the horde to the builder’s yard, given its proximity. Turns out, thankfully, that reasoning was sound.
On my stalk past the houses though, with the benefit of the NVG’s, I nearly shat myself on multiple occasions. I could see shapes moving in windows, the listless amble of the docile undead, trapped within their homes these past few months. I shudder at the myriad of horror stories that must lie beyond those closed doors, a brief flashback coming to mind of the apartment block and the misery Nate and I unearthed within its confines.
The apocalypse continues to suck.
I cut into the business units without incident, made my way to the metal fence, and was happy to see that the big main office building was pretty much next to it, a gap of maybe ten feet. The metal fence was those long vertical rails bent into a ‘V’ shape with gaps between, so I could confirm that no undead had spilled around the office building into that little space. I was up and over in a blink.
The office building itself was only a big single storey affair, though quite high as it must have had a warehouse in it for tools and such. With its sturdy drainage setup, however, I was up the pipes with my backpack and rifle in no time. Edging up the slanted metal as quietly as I could, I lay on my belly as I reached the apex and peered over into the yard.
I mean, shit. The yard was filled with undead. I know I’m shit at estimating numbers, but there was easily two or three hundred. Where the fuck had they come from? Considering I’d passed so many houses with dead residents still trapped inside, how had a horde assembled in this little arse end of nowhere? I guess we’ll have to ponder that some other time. We’ll also have to accept that some things we’ll never get answers to. Information doesn’t flow freely anymore, and the world is weird and confusing.
Also, the smell that radiated from that mass of undeath was an assault on the senses. Rot and corruption pervaded everything, and I could almost taste it on my tongue, like I’d been licking a rancid corpse.
