Clara kept her eyes on the shadows as they delved into Marsay city, trailing in the wake of the Trojan. By pointing the nose of its dozer blade between the gaps in traffic, the battlewagon was able to bore a path through the congested roads. Clara's and the two Hogs' pickup trucks behind her followed. There was no movement in the dark behind shattered windows and alleyways, no bodies in the streets, no signs of life. Veering away from the compact mainstreet, they banked onto an adjacent tramline and picked up some pace. The line was clear of debris, save for the occasional stationary tram or discarded motorbike which had tried to use the line during the city's abrupt evacuation. It was a scene of compact chaos not unfamiliar to her–a reminder of home.
Beside the tramline stretched the walls of an ancient castle, picturesque with jagged parapets like the rooks of a chess set. Walls were a good idea, Clara thought, but humanity had grown out of them, thinking themselves masters of the world. Perhaps if cities of the past had built more walls, more barracks, more armouries, they could have kept the wasteland out… or contained the carnage within? Clara slowed their jeep to squeeze through a gap where a bus lay toppled on the tramlines. Clearly, the civilians of Marsay had been eager to leave when the zombie outbreak had occurred. Walls or not, staying and fighting hadn't been on their agenda.
A swathe of weeds bent before the battlewagon as the tramline ran over a grassy corridor. Trees stretched above the weeds, obscuring Clara's view of the road just metres away. Beyond it, silent, sandstone buildings held their breath, lifeless, awaiting their masters' return. Letters embossed the walls, some spelling words in English, some in the native language; others were the names of tribes and traders which had lost their meaning when the old world crumbled. Opposite the castle walls, a concrete citadel upheld a swathe of glass panels, glimmering in the rising sun. The pre-cataclysm edifice squared off with the ancient castle across the road. Each construct was built to last an age, yet each predeceased their makers, alone now, in an empty city.
A clattering sound alerted Clara from her daydreams. She rose in her seat with one foot steady on the gas, peering through the weeds towards the noise. "Hear that?"
"Hmm?" Andy dozed.
"Keep an eye out."
Abruptly, the Trojan took a right, breaking through the weeds on the tramline and burrowing into the city. The infrastructure was different to the city Clara had grown up in–less built up, with more open space. Clara had memories of skyscrapers towering above her like oppressive black monoliths, flecked with security cameras and electric fences. However here, even in late winter, bushes speckled with pink and white flowers burst free of their plant pot confines to bask in the open air.
For a moment, Clara was envious of any girl who had grown up in these warm, orange and green streets, until she remembered how they'd met their end. Crooked lines of traffic cut through the city like old scars where its residents had been trapped and torn to pieces. Ashen bruises marred the brickwork where fires had engulfed entire buildings. Two stories above her head, a scrap of velvet blue cloth was snared in the shards of a broken window, tattered and fluttering in the breeze.
All around her was the suggestion of violence and carnage, yet the quiet was eerie, like the prowl of a predator, silent before its strike. There were no bodies, no undead roaming in the light of day. They drove slowly in silence for more than an hour when Andy suddenly stirred and sniffed the air. "Smell that?"
"Smell what?"
He bolted up in his seat. "Stop the car."
"What is it?" Clara said, breaking and reaching for her pistol.
"Over there," he said, pushing open the door. But the traffic was jammed so tightly on either side of them that he couldn't squeeze through the gap.
"What? Where?"
Winding down the window, Andy began to climb out.
"What are you doing?" Clara said. "Get back in. There might be zombies out there."
"Keep it running," he said, dragging his legs through the window and climbing atop the roofs of cars outside. Behind them, the Hogs' pickup trucks rolled to a stop. Clara could see them pointing at Andy and chattering. Clara had failed to sync them up with their radio channels before departure, but maybe it was for the best. If they'd asked, she wouldn't be able to explain Andy's actions either.
Hopping onto the road, Andy disappeared behind the hull of an abandoned van. Clara cursed, clicking her radio on. "Andy, tell me what you're doing or I'll put a bullet in that precious hip flask of yours."
"Quick supply run," he radioed. "Chill sis."
Clara growled and wrung the steering wheel out in frustration. It was always something. Breathing deep to control her anger, Clara glanced in their wing mirror and sank lower in her seat to avoid the scrutinous gazes of the Hogs. She recognised Sax's sharp eyes behind the glass' glare, cunning and judgemental. Ahead, the Trojan had ignored their pause, and was making steady progress through the streets. It wouldn't take them long to catch up whenever Andy decided to return from his little side quest.
A gunshot thudded through the silence, then two more. Clara's heart raced. She tried to open her door, but it was jammed against the traffic too. Leaning over, she prepared to climb through the passenger side open window when Andy's face appeared from behind the van, as calm and emotionless as ever. He climbed over the cars, a bottle of something in his hand, and shimmied back into their jeep.
"Definitely zombies," he said. "Slow ones, they couldn't stop me taking their…" he appraised the bottle, then scrunched up his face in disgust. "Pink gin. Ugh, gross. One moment." Dropping the bottle into the footwell, he prepared to climb out of the window again.
Clara grabbed him by the belt and pulled him back down. "Don't you dare." She put the jeep into gear and drove off before he could make an escape.