Crawlers - Chapter Five: The Warehouse

(Truly deserved A/N here: I wrote the first warehouse chapter in part 2 and then decided it wasn't a good place to start and deserved it's own thread in part one, so i am going to post them in hope anyone that reads the story during RevMo will get the full picture! There's three chaps to post, so i will edit the chapter numbers accordingly, please do ask if you are confused)

5. The Warehouse

The crawler’s head came off much cleaner than Greer had expected.

He was almost disappointed. There was a little spray of blood, but not much, and the skull smacked into the floor and rolled away into a dark corner. He hadn’t actually been aiming for the neck, but the top of the head. Everyone knew that to kill a crawler, you had to destroy its brain. It was only because he’d tripped on the threshold bar that ran across the bottom of the doorway that his hatchet had swung in at an angle and sliced through the neck. He’d always wanted to decapitate one, but it seemed less skilful when it happened by accident. The crawler’s headless body slumped forward and landed at his feet.

‘Holy shit, man!’ came Lester’s voice from behind him. He pushed past Greer into the room and crouched down by the corpse, poking at it with his knife. ‘They get more and more disgusting every time I see one, I swear.’

‘Yeah,’ said Greer, wiping his hatchet on his camouflage combat trousers. ‘Like you.’

‘That doesn’t even make sense.’

‘Does too.’

Lester stood back up. ‘Does not. Where’s the head?’

Greer pointed to the dark corner. Lester grabbed it by the small amount of hair that remained on its scalp and held it up, swinging it back and forth. As he swung it forward again, the hair ripped from the scalp and the head came flying towards Greer. Greer jumped back in disgust and batted the thing away to the left of him, where Donnie just so happened to be coming out of the kitchen. It smacked him right in the face before dropping to the floor again with a wet splat.

‘Hey!’ Donnie yelped, spitting on his hand then aggressively rubbing against his cheek until any trace of crawler juice was gone. ‘What are you two playing at?’

‘He started it,’ Greer pointed at Lester, trying to conceal the smile on his face. ‘He picked it up and swung it around!’

Donnie marched into the room and stepped over the corpse. ‘Lester, how many times do I have to tell you? The undead are not toys,’ he said. Donnie refused to refer to them as crawlers or invaders, only the ‘undead’ – as if that was any better. ‘That used to be a person, once. They deserve to be treated with dignity in death, for Christ's sake.' He crossed himself on autopilot, the same twitch he'd probably had since he was six years old and forgot he was doing it half the time. He looked upwards and murmered 'Sorry. Not taking your name in vain, I just get so angry sometimes, lord, I’m sorry.'

It was pointless – praying. Greer had never seen the point of it, least of all now, a time where God was needed more than ever. Donnie said it was a test. A test of what? Who can last the longest before they become zombie chow?

‘Right,’ Donnie said, dusting his camo jacket off. ‘What have you two found?’

Lester pulled a small tin out of his trouser pocket. ‘Small first aid kit. Not much, but better than nothing. And there was a half used case of water, I’ve put it by the front door.’

‘Nice.’ Donnie turned to Greer, the small silver of light that escaped through the gap in the curtains shone across his face, showing deep acne scars. ‘Greer?’

‘I found some tins of soup and some tape but nothing else,’ he replied. ‘Looks like this place has already been ransacked.’

‘Righteo,’ Donnie said, slapping his thigh. ‘Onto the next.’

The three of them piled back out on the street, throwing the water and the tins into the back of the jeep which was parked at an angle on the pavement out front. In the boot was the rest of their loot from the street; a few toilet rolls, some cooking utensils and a box of toy cars that Greer had insisted on taking for the little kids back at the warehouse. The street was long, with small, terraced houses standing in neat rows like soldiers. It was not unlike his own road, which had been about thirty five minutes north of this part of town. He hadn’t gone back since his parents had turned, scared they might still be there, waiting for him.

Donnie hopped the fence into the next house’s garden and crouched down in front of the lock, pulling out a long bobbypin from his thick, black hair. He bent it and started poking around in the lock. It was better to do it this way, because the crawlers got less of a head start when they finally realised you were inside. Once the door was unlocked, the three of them crowded inside. 

‘Jesus,’ Lester choked, waving his hand in front of his nose and coughing. ‘Sorry, Don. But Jesus, what is that smell?’

Greer took a sniff and then instantly wished he hadn’t. There was a stink like no other. Like a black binbag of used nappies left out in the sun had been blended up with rotten fish and wet cat food, but times ten. He gagged on the thickness of it. Donnie held his hand over his mouth and nose, but put his other arm out to stop Lester from going back outside.

‘Shadow’s don’t abandon their duties,’ he said in a nasally voice. ‘There might be bodies in here, and I’ll need to say prayers for them.’

Greer pulled his army jacket up over his face, just below his eyes, with one hand and went up the stairs with his hatchet in the other. He listened carefully for any noise, and sign that a crawler was waiting for him. There were usually give-aways, like the sound of claws scratching on wood, or a gargling sound, but this house was silent. He tried to open the door to his left with the same hand his hatchet was in but he couldn’t get a grip on the doorknob so had to let his shirt fall down. The smell hit him again. It was even worse up here. He carefully twisted the cool metal of the doorknob until the door clicked open, and he pushed it open slowly. It was the bathroom, pristine aside from the cobwebs in the corners. He saw a few tubes of toothpaste and seized them quickly, shoving them into his pockets. He would give the fullest tube to Paul. Toothpaste was sparse back at the warehouse and he was sick of smelling Paul’s breath over the breakfast table. He rooted around in the cupboard under the sink and found an unopened pack of toothbrushes, some Dove soap and a few bottles of Lynx deodorant. He didn’t have enough space in his pockets so emptied out the waste bin and threw everything he could into the white binliner. When he was certain there was nothing else of use, he left the bathroom and closed the door behind him. 

He opened the second door, and was greeted with a cheerily decorated kid’s bedroom. There was a mural of Winnie the Pooh on the bed, a neat bookshelf stacked with picture books, and an array of stuffed teddies strewn across the bed. It must have belonged to a very little kid, maybe even a toddler, as there was still a cot, though unmade, standing in the corner by the drawn curtains. He picked a few books he thought Gage might like, and a few small teddies, and also some socks and pants from the kids drawers. When they had first formed the Shadows – Lester, Donnie, Paul and him – he had felt bad about taking personal belongings, imagining some filthy mitts rifling through his MatchAttax collection or nabbing one of his video games. But now, he felt nothing.

The third and final room loomed at him from the end of the small hallway. As he approached, he was sure this was where the smell was coming from. It was worse, much thicker, outside the door. He twisted the doorknob and took a deep breath before entering the room. It was boiling hot, and a dozen or so flies flew straight into his face, battering against his eyes and his nose. He swatted them away, and as he did, he saw something that made him retch and throw up onto the cream carpet.

Laying on a king sized bed, curled up on a honey coloured duvet, were three decaying bodies. 

On the far side was the father. The exposed skin on his legs and face had turned dark and leathery, shrinking tightly against the bone like parchment. He was staring upwards, his face frozen into a hollow-cheeked skeletal mask of a man. His lips were pulled back tightly, exposing yellowed teeth. Wrapped around him was a dark blue dressing gown, and out of the end of the arm hole poked a shrunken and blanked hand that was clasped around the mother’s shoulder. She was curled up in the fetal position, her face turned down against the pillow. She still had hair, long and blonde and beautiful, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. She was wearing a white nightie that stopped at her thighs and exposed her bony legs. Tucked inbetween them, barely visible due to the state of decay, was a small child in Paw Patrol pyjamas. There was no head. It had been blown open.

As Greer threw up, he noticed the shotgun lying inbetween the father and the son, and saw the hole it had made in the bottom of his chin. He couldn’t tell where the mother had been shot. He wiped his mouth and slowly got closer to the bed, reaching out his fingers to try and pull the shotgun towards him. The father’s hand was still clasped around the gun, and as Greer pried it from him he heard a snap. The gun came loose, and he slid it across the bed. When he picked it up, a finger was curled around the trigger, and he screamed and dropped the gun onto the floor with a loud clatter.

‘Greer?’ someone shouted up the stairs, followed by a quick succession of footsteps. Lester got there first, and laughed when he saw Greer’s sick, but quickly stopped when he saw the bed. ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’

‘Language, Lester,’ Donnie barked as he made it to the top of the stairs. ‘What have I said about–’

‘You wanted to say some prayers?’ Greer interrupted him, moving out of the way so Donnie could see the bodies. ‘You think some poxy prayers will help them?’

Donnie crossed himself again, looking upwards and murmuring something about forgiveness and God and mother Mary. ‘The parents, I understand but the kid? How could you do that to your own kid? There were drop off points all over the city, there were programs in place to stop this from happening!’ He looked upon the family, judgement in his dark eyes. ‘It’s sad, but unforgivable in the eyes of the lord.’

‘Maybe they just wanted peace in knowing they would all be together,’ Lester offered, slowly picking up the gun. ‘I mean, maybe it was too late. Maybe they were already turning, and couldn’t get the kid out in time. And they didn’t want to turn and rip him apart so they made a horrible sacrifice.’

It was the most solemn Greer had ever heard Lester speak. ‘Shall we leave you to say your prayers?’ Greer asked, edging out of the door, eager to get away from the smell and the sight of decay. Lester followed him, and they could hear Donnie praying quietly, asking God to bestow forgiveness upon the parents, and take care of the little one in heaven.

‘Did you find anything good?’ Lester asked as they went downstairs. ‘We got a few tins in the kitchen and not much else.’

Greer held up the bin bag. ‘Toothpaste. Toothbrushes. Lynx.’

‘Here, give us a Lynx!’ he begged, and Greer fished one out of the bag for him. Lester instantly dowsed himself in it. ‘Ah, perfect. Smell that?’

‘You smell like the boys changing rooms at my high school, yeah,’ Greer said, trying to be a bit lighter. He followed Lester into the kitchen, where the cupboard doors hung open and empty. Peering out into the garden through the small window above the sink, Greer could see a dilapidated old shed, leaning slightly to one side. ‘What do you think’s in there?’

Lester squinted. ‘Some rusty old tools and a broken lawnmower? That’s what my dad had in ours.’ 

‘I’m going to go check,’ Greer said, holding up his hatchet. ‘What if there’s some weapons? The dad had a shotgun. He might have something else useful hidden away in there.’

‘Good shout, Greery-boy!’ Lester slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I hadn’t thought of that!’

The back door, which was made of weak PVC plastic painted red in a shoddy job, was already unlocked. The handle was stiff, and it made a loud creak as he pulled it open. Lester followed behind, ready to cover him if any crawlers attacked. Greer raced from the house to the shed and pulled at the door. 

‘Shit, it’s locked,’ he called back quietly. He looked down and saw a large padlock looped around the lock.

‘Use your hatchet!’ Lester called in response. Greer knew Donnie would be angry if they made too much noise, but the temptation was too strong to resist. First, he tried to levy the hatcher under the lock and prise it away from the wood, but it wouldn’t budge. He wondered if they should wait for Donnie, get him to unpick the padlock, but the idea that he might be the one to find a bunch of new weapons spurred him to keep trying. He raised his hatchet and swung it at the lock, missing and sinking it straight into the wood. He pulled it out and tried again, this time connecting with the metal but nothing happened except a loud clinking sound that rang out. He was cautious about attracting Crawlers, but also felt confident he and Lester could handle any that jumped the fence. He swung again, and this time the lock gave with a sharp crack, swinging loose and clattering against the shed door.

‘Yes!’ Lester celebrated behind him, crossing the small garden and joining him as he opened up the shed door. Light illuminated the dingy and musty room, revealing a wall of rusty old tools as Lester had predicted, but also a large wooden box on its side in the corner. Greer walked down and crouched beside it. It was also padlocked, but the wood could be prized open enough to see what was inside – guns, and lots of them.

‘Hey mate, I think we just hit the jackpot,’ Greer beamed, peering one eye through the wood. ‘There’s at least two more shotguns and maybe even a rifle, I can’t tell.’

‘Nice one!’ Lester pumped a fist in the air. ‘Dibs on the rifle. I’ll go tell Donnie before he starts to think we’ve become crawler meat.’

Greer looked up from the box and saw something in the other corner of his eye glint in the singlight. He stood up and saw that the shiny edge of something was poking out from beneath a dustsheet. With one swift movement, he pulled the dustsheet off and gasped in awe at the large tomahawk that stood before him. It was held upright by two metal rungs hammered into the wood behind it, and the metal was so shiny it had to have been cleaned recently. It put his wood axe that he’d looted from B&Q to shame. Carefully, he lifted the weapon into his hands and felt the heft of it.

There was a click from behind him. ‘Put that back or I’ll shoot you.’

Greer spun around, the tomahawk still in his hands, to reveal a small kid, no older than ten, aiming a shotgun at his chest. He was breathing hard, like he'd run to get there, and his face was bright red. He had a dark mop of brown hair that hung down past his chin and there were remnants of a chocolate bar smeared around his lips. His hands were trembling. ‘Woah,’ Greer said, holding the weapon out, showing he had no intention to use it. ‘I was just looking.’

‘It’s not yours,’ the kid said, his tiny blue eyes trained on Greer. His hands were trembling. 

‘It’s not anybody’s anymore, is it?’ Greer said calmly, determined not to lose access to these weapons that could save lives because of some kid. This was what they had been training for, right? Find rogue kids, floating around the city, and bring them back to the warehouse to join the team. This kid had guts alright, and guts was what the Shadows needed right now. ‘The man that owned these is dead.’

‘That man was my uncle,’ the kid said. ‘So it’s mine. Or as good as.’

Shit, that was tough. Greer felt bad for the kid. ‘You been staying in that house?’

‘No. I live across the street. I keep an eye on the house for him. And all the guns. He showed me them before. Showed me how to use them!’ He held the shotgun up higher. ‘So put the axe back!’

Not wanting to end up mincemeat on the ground, or for the kid to attract any crawlers with his shouting, he reluctantly obliged and put the tomahawk back on the wall.

'Good,' the kid said, though his voice cracked slightly on the word, betraying how close he'd been to actually pulling that trigger. He didn't lower the gun. 'Now get out.’

'Hang on,’ Greer said, keeping his hands where the kid could see them, palms out. 'What's your name?'

‘I’m not supposed to tell strangers,’ the kid sniffed.

‘My name is Greer London. Cool name, right?’ He smiled. ‘So, now I’m not a stranger.’

‘Jasper,’ he said, lowering the gun. 

‘Okay, that’s also a cool name,’ Greer said, taking a step out of the shed. ‘What were your uncle and his family called?’

‘Uncle John. And Auntie Maddie and my little cousin Joe.’ He dropped the shotgun entirely, letting it hang loose in his hands, pointed at the floor. He looked like he was about to cry. 

The backdoor creaked open, making Jasper jump. Lester and Donnie came out into the garden with stern faces.

‘Woah, hey guys. This is my new friend Jasper,’ Greer said slowly edging over to the kid. ‘This is his uncle John's house, and John sure did have a lot of weapons!’

Donnie's face softened the second he clocked how young Jasper was. He carefully approached him. 'Alright, Jasper,' he said gently, taking the shotgun out of his hands. ‘How old are you?’

‘Nine and a half,’ he said. 

‘So you’re not a little kid then? You’re a big kid?’ he laughed, ruffling his hair. ‘You been living on your own all this time?’

Jasper nodded. ‘Mum left me lots of food and there were lots of DVDs but the power went out and it hasn’t come back on yet.’

‘Well, how about you come with us, and you can live with some other kids your age?’ Donnie asked, passing the shotgun back to Lester. ‘We've even got a backup generator, so we could take some of your DVDs to watch.’ 

The kid looked unsure, biting at his lip. He shook his head. ‘I like my house. And my room and my bed!’

Donnie put his hand on Jasper’s shoulder but he pulled away quickly. ‘I promise you, kid, you’ll be safe with us. This is what we do. We find little kids and we try to help them get back with any family that might still be alive. You got any more cousins? 

Jasper nodded. ‘I have two more cousins. They’re your age, I think.’

‘Okay, we will try and get in contact with them, but only if you come with us. It’s not safe out here, even if you do have a pretty awesome weapon,’ Donnie stood back up and turned to Greer. ‘How about you take Jasper across the road and pack up a few of his things whilst me and Lester pack these guns into the car. If that’s alright with you, Jasper?’

Jasper nodded, although clearly unsure. ‘Uncle John told me to look after them.’

‘I think what Uncle John meant was to use them to look after yourself. And since we’re looking after you now, then he wouldn’t mind us having them in order to keep you safe, right?’ Donnie reassured him. Donnie was good with kids. Too good. It made Greer wonder if perhaps, like him, Donnie was an older brother. Being a catholic, it wasn’t unlikely that he’d had half a dozen or more siblings, once. 

‘Does this mean I can take the tomahawk – the big axe?’ Greer asked.

Jasper sighed. ‘If you clean it everyday, because that’s what Uncle John did.’

‘Okay, kid,’ Greer replied. ‘I promise.’

Jasper led Greer through the house and out the front. The street was clear, and they quickly crossed over to the identical house sitting opposite them. Jasper pulled a key from around his neck and unlocked the tired looking green front door. The house inside smelled musty, and faintly of urine. Jasper led him first into the lounge, which looked barely lived in. There were still lines hoovered into the carpet, and plumped pillows on the plush leather sofas. A large, plasma screen TV loomed above them. 

Greer whistled. ‘Nice house.’

The kitchen was just as swish, though there were splashes of bean juice over the hob and the countertops and a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink. He opened up one cupboard, and to his surprise, saw that it was stocked almost full of tins and bags of rice and pasta.

‘How did you get all this?’ he marvelled, picking up one tin and inspecting it. It was Marks and Spencers brand too, posh. He couldn’t imagine this kid risking it and looting a supermarket, not even with his gun.

‘My mum liked to stay stocked up,’ Jasper said. He opened up several more cupboards which were also still stocked. There were crisps, chocolates, sweets, boxes of cereal and tubs of chocolate spread. He pulled out a packet of Jammy Dodgers and said, ‘these are my favourites. Want one?’

‘Heck yeah,’ Greer smiled, feeling his stomach grumble. For a moment the two of them stood still, munching down an entire packet between them. Greer wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his army jacket. ‘Right, you go get packed up. Clothes, toothbrushes, toys, DVDs, whatever you can fit in a bag or two. I’m gonna pack this stuff up, alright?

Jasper nodded, and ran upstairs. Greer looked around until he found a clothes basket full of laundry that never got put away. He tipped the clothes out and started filling it with the crisps and chocolates. Then he emptied the trashcan and filled it with the tins, placing both filled boxes by the front door. He had a quick look around the rest of the downstairs, peeping into the downstairs bathroom, which seemed to be where the urine smell was coming from as the toilet was overflowing with it. There was a large curtain covering the back door in the small dining room, and he peeked through the crack into the back garden. It was similar to the other garden, but no shed, and there was a pond with an ornament of a fish floating around on top of it.

He heard a thud upstairs, and instantly rushed up to see if Jasper was okay. He was sitting on his bedroom floor, surrounded by books and DVDs and toys, as though he had been trying to carry them all at once and tripped. His bedroom was very bare, with one poster of different species of insects and a dark blue duvet cover. Aside from the toys on his floor, it didn’t really look like a kid’s bedroom. More like a student or a boring young business man.

‘You okay, kid?’ Greer asked, and the kid burst out crying.

‘I don’t know what to take!’ he sobbed, pointing at his things. ‘I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Hey, hey, calm down,’ Greer said, getting down on his knees. ‘Where’s your bag?’

Jasper pointed at a smart black backpack. Greer unzipped it and handed it back to him. ‘You put some underwear, socks, tops and trousers in there. Try and fold them up small and you can fit more in,’ he suggested, searching for another bag. He found a tote bag with the emblem of the local library on it. ‘And I’ll pack these,’ he said, gesturing to the toys and DVDs in here, okay? You got a favourite?’

‘The bear,’ he said, grabbing a ratty looking teddy. Greer shoved it in, followed by a stack of children’s classics and a bunch of Disney films. He kicked the rest undet the bed, hoping Jasper would forget about them. There really wasn’t much room in the warehouse now, not with how many kids they’d picked up recently. He watched as Jasper filled his bag with the remains of his life, and it made him think back to when he’d left his house. It was faster than this, in a blind panic, and he’d left almost everything behind. 

‘Ready?’ he asked Jasper. 

Jasper swung his bag onto his back, knocking a Mickey Mouse alarm clock off of his bedside table, and gave a thumbs up to Greer. They went down the stairs and Greer opened the front door, doing a quick check to make sure there were no Crawlers before dashing across to the road, where Donnie and Lester were waiting in the car. Greer put Jasper’s DVDs and books in the boot, and made sure he was safely in the back before running back and loading the tins and snacks next to the books. He closed the book and climbed in next to Jasper.

‘Can you lock the door?’ Jasper held out the key he’d had around his neck. ‘Please. What if robbers come?’

He sighed and snatched it from his palm. He dashed back across the street and locked the front door. As he turned around to run back, he spotted a lone Crawler at the end of the road. It stood up on its hindlegs, making it almost six feet tall, and let out a violent screech. It had seen him. Greer went to grab his tomahawk, and realised he’d left it in the jeep. Shit. How could he be so stupid? He kept his eyes on it and ran back to the jeep, slamming the door behind him and leaning forward to look through the dashboard. 

‘Why isn’t it moving?’ he panted. ‘Why isn’t it running at us?’

‘Don’t know, don’t care,’ Donnie replied, turning on the engine and putting his foot down. ‘As long as it’s not trying to eat me, it can live another day.’

The jeep sped forward and Donnie swerved around the crawler. Greer twisted round in his seat, unable to look away, watching it shrink smaller and smaller through the back windscreen. Its eyes stayed trained on him until it was nothing but a spec in the horizon.