Fear the Dead 2 Read Free

wounded war hero.
     
    I gritted my teeth. “I’ve had worse.
Listen, you better get back to the radios,” I told him.
     
    He shook his head. It was a tiny,
nearly imperceptible movement, but I saw it.
     
    “There a problem?” I said.
     
    “I don’t see what good sitting there
all day is going to do.”
     
    “You serious? You heard the
broadcast. If we trust this guy – and for the record I don’t - there might be a
cure. Probably bullshit, but we can’t afford to ignore it.”
     
    Justin kicked a stone. “Just don’t
see why I should be there all day.”
     
    I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“We’ve been through this Justin. You’re not finishing early. Now get back to
the radio room.”
     
    Justin looked at Moe, his eyebrows
arched.
     
    “Don’t look at me boy. Kyle’s the
best friend you got here, and if he says no then I’m afraid you’re shit out of
luck,” said Moe.
     
    Milky-red blotches spread through
Justin’s cheeks, and his eyebrows twitched as he fought against the teenage
tantrum that was tearing to get out. He turned away from us, gave another stone
a kick and then walked off toward the radio room.
     
    Moe stuffed his hands into his
pockets and pulled something out. “Got something for you,” he said, and held
his out his hand.
     
     He held a gold bracelet in his
palm, the chain links worn but still glinting. I recognised it straight away. A
year ago I’d been attacked by a stalker out in the woods, and I woke up in a
bed in Vasey. When I told them I wasn’t sticking around, Moe had insisted on
taking something as payment for “my healthcare.” He gave me a choice between my
gun and the bracelet; between survival and the sentimental.
     
    “Thought you were going to trade it
for some…leisure time?” I said.
     
    “There are other things you can trade
for ass around here. Day or two after you left, I got to thinking we’d see you
around here again. Even a bastard like me has some sensibilities.”
     
    I took the bracelet from him. The
metal was warm.
     
    “Thanks.”
     
    The wind nipped at my cheeks and
carried the smell of manure from the vegetable fields. It wasn’t alpine air
freshener, but you got used to the sour odour. People complained that the town
constantly stunk, but I reminded them that the smell of manure represented our
future. It was a means of us being self-sufficient.
     
    Moe ran his hands through his sheet
of grey hair. “I’m leaving, Kyle.”
     
    A steel gate loomed at the end of the
road, the black bars thick enough to withstand artillery fire. It was operated
by a system of cranks and pulleys controlled by levers in the turrets that
stood either side of it. I’d walked through that gate once, but I never thought
I’d be back on this side of it.
     
    “Leaving where?”
     
    “Just going. “
     
    I stopped. “You mean for good?”
     
    Moe sighed. “For good doesn’t mean
much to an old man like me. Could be a year, could be five. But yeah, I’m
going.”
     
    “Why?”
     
    “Look around you Kyle. The place is
turning to shit. You can smell it in the air.”
     
    I kicked a stone, sent it rolling
across the cobbles. “We’re building something here. What’s out there for you,
Moe? I’ve lived in the Wilds. There’s nothing but death.”
     
    “Sure, around Vasey. There’s more to
the world than this shithole.”
     
    Outside Vasey’s walls there was only
starvation and death. A year ago I wouldn’t have come near the town, but I’d
come to realise that there was nothing else waiting for us, no shiny place
where everyone was happy. Vasey was as good as it got, and I would do
everything I could to keep it together.
     
    The sky above of us was tinged with
grey. A thick raincloud gathered, swollen and ready to drop. There was a chill
to the air, and winter would be here soon. It was probably time to send people
out chopping fire wood. We needed to build a stockpile to get us through the harsh
months