A zombie was staring through the window of the old camper van.

Merryn rose to her feet, boots already on, rifle handy, rucksack packed and ready to go. Moving with care in the confines of the old Type 2 Volkswagen, she studied her surroundings. The van was a darker blue than her parents' old camper had been, and the canvas pop top had still worked when she put it up, remaining dry despite the overnight rain. But the doors creaked, and the side door was a slider, guaranteed to make a noise. Merryn paused with her hand on the door handle and turned back to face the zombie. Dead white eyes continued to stare through the window and through her.

It was just one.

Merryn turned a full three-sixty inside the van. She had a clear field of vision of about fifty yards to the woods beyond the car park. Nothing else was moving or making any sound that she could hear through the canvas side of the roof.

The single shot of her handgun took the walker through the forehead, the grey sunken face collapsing from view as the spume of jellylike blood and brains ballooned from its head, the side window of the van exploding outwards in sprinkling shards of glass. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as the smell hit her, the zombie hitting the tarmac and leaf mold with a dull thud. But as the birds in the nearby trees took flight, a chorus of stuttering moans broke the post gunshot silence.

Merryn swore, rammed her pistol back in its holster, grabbed her kit and bolted from the camper van, the old sliding door screeching in rusty protest as the hunting call of the walkers rose from the trees. More answered from a different part of the woods, and Merryn altered her course to steer away from as many of them as she could.

As she ran, something dug into her lower back and she grimaced in pain. The tin of peaches stashed at the back of one of the camper van's cupboards had been an unexpected joy, but now it was going to become annoying if she had to run too far.

Merryn stopped and listened. A few moans sounded, all from behind her and she took a moment to push things around, hitch her pack up and tighten the straps.

"Time to go," she muttered. "Those peaches are mine."

~

An hour later, she stopped and looked at the valley below her, her breathing even but heavy as her lungs sought to replenish the oxygen in her system. She'd quickly lost the deadheads, their shambling canter no match for her long-distance runner stamina.

From a granite outcrop, she looked through her binoculars at the city in the valley below, eyes alert for movement of any sort as she traced the roads from the outskirts to the coast and along to her final destination, the naval dockyard.

Satisfied she was out of any imminent danger, Merryn laid her rifle on the bare rock in easy reach, removed her rucksack, and unpacked a collapsible gas stove and some rations. As the pan bubbled to the boil she hand-cranked the power on her clockwork radio.

"Hello Control? This is Scout 2, do you read me?"

"Morning Scout 2, Mal here, how's it going?"

Merryn grinned, Mal was one of her favourite operatives, calm, unflappable and usually up for a cuppa and a chat in the old army canteen. "All good here Mal, although I almost came unstuck this morning when I had to shoot a zombie before breakfast."

"He forgot the milk?"

"Aye, the service was terrible. Although I did find a tin of peaches last night which was cool. This morning the woods were full of zombies though so I had a bit of an early morning jog."

"Peaches? Nasty. Now tinned pineapple, that's more like it. I love tinned pineapple. You shot him with a gun?"

"Yes, my crossbow broke a couple of days ago, otherwise it wouldn't have been so noisy."

"What's your current situation?"

"Still no milk, cooking breakfast."

Mal sighed over the radio deliberately transmitting his mock frustration, and Merryn grinned as he continued. "Your status clever clogs; where are you, what's going on, are you in mortal peril? etc etc."

Merryn looked south towards the sea. "I've made pretty good progress. I'm sitting on the edge of Dartmoor, getting closer to the naval base in Plymouth. I reckon another day and I'll be there. The countryside here is pretty woolly, but that's not changed since I lived here as a kid, so no problem there. Food is ok, one weapon down, but otherwise good."

Merryn stirred the pan, and turned off the flame. "The interesting bit is going to be getting through the city to the dockside, but I have an idea there."

"Okay, roger that Merryn. We'll talk to you tomorrow then, and I hope you make good progress. Watch out for the dead guys, and remember they're only interested in your brains, not your body."

"Thanks for the warning Mal, I have no intention of waking up with a straw in my ear yet. Over and out."

Merryn stowed her radio and reached for her meal, the steam warming her face as she sat on the bare granite with her back to the cliff. As she spooned the food into her mouth, she assessed the lay of the land in front of her. Plymouth was a sprawling city, mostly suburbs built up around the ancient dock area that had served the navy for hundreds of years. Her eyes looked to the west where the river ran south past the western edge of the city then curled past the docks. She nodded to herself. That would be her route in, by the river, not trying to work her way through the urban sprawl that could house all sorts of unknowns.

"Boat next," she muttered to herself. "But first, peaches."

~

There was no camper van that night, and no zombies either. Merryn woke to birdsong and the smell of decaying leaf mould, out of zombie reach in a tree on the edge of an old golf course. The clubhouse had been picked dry of food and drink, but she found a few tins in the back of an old Volvo next to the skeleton of the man who'd done his shopping on the way into the golf club. A tin of dog food wasn't her favourite start to the day, but food was food.

The radio hissed static at her as she finished the tin and she grimaced, reaching for her flask of water to wash away the taste.

"Scout 2, here."

"Control. Morning Merryn, Mal again. How's it going?"

"Almost in position. I'm a few miles from the target and need to float myself downriver to get to the docks. At the moment I'm trying to keep my dog food down."

"Nasty. But it could be worse, it could be creamed spinach, that stuff is evil."

"Thanks, Mal. I'll try and remember to bring you a tin back so you can share the joy."

"I'm on a diet thanks, no need to bother." There was a pause as if instructions were being relayed at the other end of the conversation and Merryn waited patiently.

"Scout 2, you still there?"

"Yes Mal, still here."

"Okay, new orders. As before, you'll be recceing the area for signs of activity, checking the suspected weapons bunker in the dockyard if you can, and seeing if there's any salvageable equipment."

Mal paused and cleared his throat. "You'll also be looking for a young woman."

"A what now?" Merryn let go of the transmission button on her radio and composed herself. "I mean, please repeat Control."

"A younger human person, a teenager to be precise. Well, we think she's a teenager, it's difficult to tell."

"Mal, are you serious?"

"Absolutely. I have Captain Summers standing next to me looking stern and everything. As soon as you get to the location, please report in."

"Okay Control shall do. Scout 2 out."

Merryn rocked back on her heels, the taste of dog food forgotten in the light of new information on her mission. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, straightened up, hefted her pack, and walked southwest to the edge of the river.

~

'Erneton Foliot Scout Hut' said a sign as Merryn followed the riverside footpath under the trees. Ahead, there was sunlight and she approached the edge of the treeline with caution. By the edge of the river was a sturdy-looking scout hut, with a grassy area surrounding it on all sides. A fire pit with several large logs serving as seating caught her eye and she caught a faint whiff of smoke. A narrow wooden jetty protruded out across the estuarine mud, a canoe tied up, and resting on the silt as it waited for the tide to lift it once more into service.

Merryn made a decision and stepped out into the open, her hands raised. "I know you can see me," she called, looking at the window of the hut where she'd caught a slight movement. "I'm from the government army base in Exeter."

"You need to stop there, please miss," replied a voice, and a bearded man opened the door of the hut and stepped into view. Tall, thin, and greying, he was dressed in outdoor gear; walking boots and trousers and a green fleece with the scout logo on it. He was unarmed and leant against the doorframe of the hut. "Can we help you?"

"We?" Merryn raised an eyebrow. "Then I assume someone else has a weapon trained on me?"

"Ah, you're a sharp one then." The man held up a hand and beckoned towards the woods to her left. As she looked, a tall thin boy dressed in camouflage clothing emerged from the trees with an arrow nocked to the string of his bow.

Merryn turned her attention back to the bearded man. "I assume you were the scout leader here then?"

"One of them, yes. I'm Brian and this is my son, Tom. The troupe was camping here when everything went to hell."

"You're all that's left?"

"No, there are a few more, but they're out foraging." Brian inspected her. "You don't look much like the army to me. Apart from the rifle and handgun."

"They didn't have combats in my size when I joined up," noted Merryn dryly. "I'm a scout, not a grunt. My brother was the soldier in the family, I came to it when everything changed."

"So what brings you this way?" asked Tom, who still had an arrow ready on the string.

"I'm heading to the dockyard. We have some intelligence that suggests there is a weapons cache there. It's my job to check, then report back to base."

"So why shouldn't we kill you and take your weapons?" said Tom, his tone flat.

"Tom," said Brian, his tone weary.

"Don't 'Tom' me Dad. She's Army, what have they ever done for us apart from ignore us?"

Merryn turned to face the younger man. "We didn't know you were here. Now we do. You have a choice: you can either stay here, which is fine, or you can make your way up the coastal path to the Calstone barracks. That's where I'm based. They will give you a hot shower, feed you, and house you if you choose to stay there. Or, you can join the next transport to the Isle of Wight. That's where the government is now and we always need good people to work the farms and do other essential work. Or you can volunteer like I did and join the more frontline side of things. It's up to you."

Merryn turned back to Brian. "May I take a seat by the fire pit?"

Brian nodded and moved to join her. "We've not seen anyone here for months, not even many walkers, it's been quiet. But you sometimes hear things in the city."

"Like what?"

"Gunfire. Screaming." Tom joined them by the fire, lowering his bow and dropping the arrow back into the quiver at his hip. "We even hear explosions sometimes, and if the wind is blowing in the wrong direction, we hear the moaning when a group of walkers finds someone." The boy shuddered.

"Is the other one standing in the shadow of the scout hut going to join us?" asked Merryn, looking across at Brian.

The man chuckled. "Damn, you really are sharp aren't you?" Brian turned, "Andrew, come on out lad, we're okay."

A smaller boy carrying a crossbow moved from the shadow of the hut. "The path is clear behind her, she's on her own."

Merryn's eyebrow rose in surprise. "You got behind me and scouted my trail?"

"Yes, miss."

"Impressive, not many people get the drop on me."

The lad grinned at her, his grubby face losing a few years and he placed his weapon against the log, taking a seat next to Tom.

"I need to get to the dockyard. May I borrow your canoe? Or a kayak or paddleboard or something? I don't want to go through the city as I suspect it's full of walkers."

Tom met her gaze. "It's not the walkers you need to worry about, it's the gangs. There's a couple of them, remnants of the old drug gangs. They control the city now. They're armed and ruthless. Three of the troupe tried to get back to Plymouth centre to see if their families were alive a few months ago. Only one made it back and he died the next day. They tortured him for the sheer fun of it."

Brian pursed his lips. "I reckon your best bet might be to walk a little more. Cross the river at the bridge up the road where it's narrower and work your way down the other bank of the river until you're opposite the docks. Then paddle across. If you try to paddle down from here you'll have to go past several miles of city and you'll be a sitting duck in a canoe for anyone with a good rifle. If you cross at the narrowest point of the river by the docks it'll minimise your chances of being spotted."

Tom glanced at his father. "The old Torpoint ferry dad?"

Brain shook his head. "North of that, by the Torpoint Sea Scouts centre. Remember we did some sailing stuff there a few times? The centre is north of Torpoint, so you can get there via fields rather than the city streets, and then use the concrete jetty at the oil refinery just down the road to launch from. That's opposite the dockyard."

Brian looked Merryn in the eyes. "If we help you, will you come with us to your army base and vouch for us?"

"Absolutely," said Merryn without hesitation. "But why are you willing to help me?"

"I'm fed up with eating beans and being scared for my little group. We keep losing people and I can't see any more of my kids die."

"That I can understand. How many of you are there?"

"Six," Brian glanced down the footpath. "Here come the other three now."

Two teenage girls and a boy walked into the open; two holding what appeared to be pickaxe handles, one girl with a crossbow pointing at Merryn who raised her hands so they could be seen.

~

Author's Note - If you've enjoyed the opening to this one, please do feel free to leave feedback in the form of a comment and/or a vote, and that does of course go for the rest of the chapters too, feedback is always welcomed. Thank you