Chapter 25
Light It Up
Theo
Ollie being a delightful little pyromaniac was definitely not on my bingo card this year. Not that it should surprise me, considering this isn’t the first time she’s set zombies on fire. Although from the matching scowls on Alex and Rhys’s faces, I’m the only one truly appreciating it.
“No, princess,” Rhys says with a hard voice. “That’s an insane plan.”
Alex grunts in agreement. He’s standing next to Rhys, arms crossed over his chest while doing his best impression of a pissed-off bear.
“But do you think it’d work?” Ollie prods, not giving up on her idea.
Rhys sighs and rakes a hand through his hair.
“Maybe if we can get enough bottles of flammable liquid to throw while also having enough to make Molotovs with. And even then, it’s no guarantee that enough of the horde can be doused to offset the rot and rain to light them up.
That’s all without considering if we have people who can throw far enough away. ”
Ollie listens to him, her head tilted to the side and a contemplative look on her face. “Well, the throwing issue is easy to solve. Just have Alex throw them.”
“What?” Alex sputters, gaping at her. “Why the bloody hell would I be the right choice for that?”
“Because you’re a rugby player. You know how to throw things.”
“Rugby balls. I know how to toss a rugby ball, not a bloody bottle that’s filled with flammable liquid and set on fire! Not to mention it’s a completely different technique!”
I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing at the incredulous expression on Alex’s face as he rants at Ollie. Ollie, meanwhile, just stands there and shrugs.
“You could throw it like a rugby ball.”
Alex growls and turns his attention to Rhys. “I swear to fuck if you don’t sort this friendship bullshit out and spank her ass—”
He’s cut off by a shrill scream.
The four of us stop and rush to the edge of the watchtower just in time to see the horde scramble onto the hood of the car. They moan and groan hungrily as they claw at the windscreen, causing it to crack and almost buckle beneath their desperate hands.
“Shit. They don’t have much time before that window collapses and we can’t risk shooting in case we hit the glass,” Rhys bites out as he turns to Ollie.
“Fine. We’ll try your risky as fuck plan.
Go get Anthony and bring as many glass bottles and jars as you can find here.
Theo and I will grab anything remotely liquid and flammable.
” He turns to a scowling Alex. “You can go grab a bunch of sheets and start tearing them into strips. Make sure they’re dry and mostly clean. ”
We hurry away to do as we’re told. Rhys and I beeline straight to the kitchen and to where the liquor is stored.
Along the way, Rhys radios in, demanding that more weapons be delivered to the front gate since only a few guards are armed and we need a Plan B.
With that done, we grab as many bottles of vodka, whisky, and rum as we can, prioritising the higher-proof bottles.
“You take those. I’ll go to the storage sheds and see if there’s some jerry cans full of petrol still around,” Rhys says as he hands me more bottles.
I juggle several bottles as I hurry back to the gate, glass clinking as I half run, half walk. Alex is already there, holding old bedsheets that he’s cutting into strips with a knife while shaking his head.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he grumbles as I place the bottles beside him.
I can’t help but be amused by his surly attitude. “I think you should worry more about how you’re going to throw these things,” I tell him with a small chuckle and a pat on his back.
“I’m trying my best to forget that part, you prick,” he says, his eyes narrowing at my smile.
It’s probably looking a little manic right now with everything going on. Adrenaline is pumping through my system, giving me the floaty, almost giddy high I can’t help but crave. It’s addictive how good it makes me feel, and surviving the apocalypse has only added to it.
“You need to get your head checked. No one should be that eager about impending danger and potential death.”
I shrug. “We all have to get our kicks somehow, Mr I-enjoy-almost-getting-caught-fucking.”
He snorts and shakes his head but doesn’t answer, instead focusing on tearing more strips from the bedsheet.
I take that as my cue to grab more bottles of booze. However, as I reach the door to the communal dining building, Rhys calls out to me. I turn, spotting him next to one of the storage sheds, a jerry can in each hand.
“Leave the alcohol and help me with these,” he orders.
I jog over to him and grab the cans, shocked that they’re almost full. And then I notice that there’s two more behind him. Why the hell does Haven have this much petrol just lying around in a shed? Not that it really matters right now when we have bigger problems to deal with.
We haul the cans back to the gate. Ollie and Anthony have returned with a bunch of empty bottles and are helping Alex rip more strips. They pause, their eyes widening when they see the amount of petrol Rhys and I have bought.
“This enough, you think?” Rhys asks as he sets his cans down.
Ollie’s mouth opens and closes a few times before nodding. “Holy shit, yeah. I think with all of that, we might actually pull this off.”
We get to work quickly, the hungry groans from the zombies and the terrified screams from the supply team spurring us on. Others from the security team see what we’re doing and hurry over to help, including Simon.
“This is fucking crazy,” he says as he fills bottles with petrol.
“We bloody know,” Alex grumbles with a surly expression as he shoves pieces of fabric into already filled bottles.
We’ve made about thirty Molotov cocktails when Charles and Elsa appear, both looking confused, concerned, and pissed at what they see.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Charles demands as he glares down at us. “Shouldn’t you be taking down the horde outside the gate?”
“We’re making Molotovs to do just that,” Rhys says curtly as he finishes carefully pouring petrol into a glass bottle and hands it over for it to have a rag shoved into it.
“What?” Elsa screeches. “Why on earth are you doing that? Don’t you know they’re dangerous?”
I barely resist snorting because, duh. We’re making them because they’re dangerous. Unfortunately, Ollie can’t stifle hers, and that causes both councillors to swing their ire at her.
“You think this is funny?” Elsa snaps, planting her hands on her hips and glaring down at the other woman.
Ollie seems unconcerned by Elsa’s anger and shrugs. “A little, yeah. We understand Molotovs are dangerous; that’s the entire reason we’re making them.”
I beam at her. It’s times like this that remind me just how fucking perfect this woman is for me.
“You stupid girl! You’re going to set the entire community on fire!” Charles hisses at her, his face a shade of red I’ve never seen before.
Rhys immediately draws himself to his full height, and while his height isn’t that imposing, the way he holds himself is. The thunderous expression on his face also helps. Alex follows him, a hulking, terrifying shadow at his back.
Charles and Elsa step back from us, their eyes widening. This is probably the first time they’ve actually seen them pissed at them. Or maybe they’re just realising that Rhys is basically a trained killing machine and Alex is fucking massive.
“Call Ollie stupid or talk down to her again, I dare you,” Rhys says, his voice cold and hard. While Alex and I grow hot with our fury, Rhys turns ice cold.
Charles sucks in a sharp breath as the colour drains from his face. Even Elsa is looking shaky and terrified next to him, and she’s not even the subject of Rhys’s rage.
“S-sorry,” the older man says, then clears his throat and seems to get a grip as he composes himself. “I apologise, Ollie. That was unacceptable.”
Rhys stares at them icily for a moment before nodding and crouching back down to fill more bottles with petrol.
Alex remains standing, arms crossed over his chest as he glares at the two councillors.
The tension dissipates, and I can’t help but smirk at the twin looks of shaken relief on Charles’s and Elsa’s faces.
Ollie looks stunned, and a little turned on as she stares at Rhys like she’s never seen him before. That’s twice he’s defended her now. Maybe our girl is finally realising that the idiot wants more than friendship with her.
“Alright, I think this’ll be enough,” Rhys says as he finishes filling his bottle. “Let’s throw these before that windshield breaks and four more people get added to the horde.”
We each gather a couple of bottles each—both with and without rags—and scurry up the ladders to the watchtowers. Lucky for us, we have two people who played cricket before the apocalypse, so they’re the ones who’ll throw first.
And throw they fucking do.
The first few bottles are unlit and fly through the air, disappearing into the darkness. There’s a muffled crash as the glass smashes into pieces, hopefully spilling the petrol onto as many zombies as possible. With a few bottles thrown, they move on to the lit ones.
Nothing happens. Ollie and Rhys curse, thinking the idea had flopped and the two immediately look around, trying to figure out another plan.
And then the second and third lit bottles are thrown.
There’s a thunderous whoosh as bright orange fire bursts upward, engulfing several zombies in flames. The zombies around them stop their shuffling towards the car and the gate and turn their attention to the fire, catching themselves alight in the process.
“Holy shit, it worked! Throw more!” Ollie cries out, her voice filled with shock and excitement as she jumps up and down.