by Drew Brown
Budd raised his shotgun’s barrel, holding it waist-high. “Get behind me, Snot-nose,” he said.
Without speaking, Becky did as she was told.
They were closing in fast.
Normally, something bad approaching will send me reeling away, mainly concerned with placing a very safe distance between it and me. But standing there with that damned hatch beneath my feet stopped me going anywhere at all. It throbbed as regular as clockwork.
There wasn’t even enough time left for me to jam it shut with Sam’s shotgun-excavated corpse and hightail it out of there…
A single beast, somewhere towards the back of the advancing two dozen, started to run. Like a flock of birds reacting to a single member’s sudden change of direction, it took only parts of a second before they were all running.
Sam loosed off shots, one after the other, firing until the magazine was empty. The bullets were aimed for the head and, although most missed their targets, three of the attackers fell to the ground, their skulls leaking brain, blood, and shards of bone.
The body of the nearest one was only fifteen feet from Budd.
A female beast wearing a black pinstriped pants suit was the next to reach them, hurtling carelessly over the fallen bodies. She had short hair and red-painted nails that she aimed like daggers at Sam’s throat.
The young Californian screamed and staggered away.
“Yo, mama!” Budd shouted. “Come bite me.”
The shotgun’s muzzle erupted into flame.
At such a close range, the blast was powerful enough to stop the woman in mid-air and drop her broken body to the ground.
Budd fired the second barrel, downing two beasts that were running side by side. Still more closed in. Working frantically, he replaced the shotgun’s spent shells with two from his pocket, but by the time he was ready to fire, a man in blue- and white-striped pajamas had wrapped his hands around the barrel. The attacker’s palms sizzled as he tried to snatch the shotgun away.
Budd pulled the trigger.
Behind a cloud of smoke, the man-beast’s headless body stood for a moment before toppling backwards.
Involuntarily, Budd stepped away, trying to clear the space in front of him so that he could take another shot, but he moved too far and his feet left the hatch, which burst open before he could correct his mistake. The highest beasts, two men and a woman, started squeezing their way through.
Budd lowered the shotgun and fired.
For a brief time, the press of flesh in the hatch’s opening was still, but then the wrecked bodies on top were dragged down and other monsters took their place, emerging through the blood and gore.
Budd reloaded the shotgun, reeling backwards as he went, almost tripping on Becky.
A woman in a blue nightdress lunged at him with blood-covered hands. Budd fired, and the shot removed her head of long blond hair from her shoulders. Blood spurted into the air like a fountain, but before her decapitated body had even dropped to the floor, Budd realized that it was over.
The main bulk of the monsters on the surface reached him. There were far more than he could overcome with his shotgun, half a dozen within the space of a few feet. Further back, even more continued to spill from the surrounding fog, ready to fill the place of the few he might still be able to kill.
When the referee totalled the final score, I knew we weren’t gonna be the winning team…
Behind him, Budd heard Sam’s voice call out, but the fear-induced rush of blood in his head prevented him from hearing the words. Becky was crying and pulling at his trouser leg.
He gulped down his terror.
The faces of the beasts in front of him turned pale, their bodies shining in the darkness.
The thunderous sound was not his heart pumping.
In one instant, the assortment of mansion-guests were approaching, their faces eerily lit; and in the next, they were being bowled over, their bodies flying this way and that, broken and limp.
The truck careened by in front of Budd, so close that the wind pulled at his body. As soon as the vehicle had gone, skidding on the concrete as it braked to a halt, Budd found that the closest attackers had been swept away by the speeding metal. Most of those further back had scattered.
Beside the hatch lay the top half of a suit-wearing male. His body was severed at the waist, his lower half still in the hole, absorbed by the beasts trying to exit the cramped tunnels. Blood bubbled from his nose and mouth while blackened organs slipped from his torso as he thumped the ground, trying to turn himself over.
Budd sprinted after the truck, using his free hand to peel Becky from his leg and hold her in the air. The truck had come to a complete stop with its open rear-end facing them. Hidden from view at the front of the vehicle came the sound of Sanders firing his MP-5.
Several of the nearest attackers were cut down.
Budd tossed Becky through the truck’s opening and then hopped up himself. The little girl crawled further inside.
“Get us out of here,” Budd shouted.
There was one more spate of firing as Sam scrambled aboard. He had the chainsaw. Budd helped him to his feet and then reloaded his shotgun, the two of them backing into the canvas-covered darkness.
Outside, the beasts had recovered from the arrival of the truck and were running towards it.
“Come on, buddy. Get this thing movin’,” Budd said, and then, as if in answer to his plea, the truck lurched forward and he only stopped himself falling by grabbing an upright that supported the canvas.
Sam wasn’t so lucky.
The young Californian fell over, releasing the chainsaw, which slid along the floor and came to a halt when it reached the short rim at its edge.
Budd regained his balance and then leveled his shotgun at the rear entrance, leaning his body against one of the metal supports to counter the buffeting from the hard suspension.
The truck turned right in a wide semicircle, gradually increasing in speed, but the beasts were still gaining on the vehicle by cutting the corner. A group of them disappeared from Budd’s view, obscured by the angle of the truck, but he was sure they were getting closer.
Why, why isn’t it over? Does this never end? Why does the world have it in for me? Did I do something wrong in a previous life?
These were just some of the questions I asked myself. Like I told the judge in my trial after my useless divorce lawyer had lost me both halves of everything—again—and I’d set fire to his beloved Ferrari.
I wasn’t in a happy place right then…
Sam went to retrieve the chainsaw.
“Watch out!” Budd yelled.
Sam was bent over and reaching for the chainsaw, but he turned his head to see what the warning was for. A petite, slender hand reached into the truck and grabbed his outstretched wrist, tugging him down to his knees. “Oh, fuck!” he said, struggling to free himself from the woman’s grip.
Her heavily made-up face was framed with red hair, and her eyes were wide as she looked at Sam, saliva streaming down her chin. Her well-manicured nails penetrated deep into his arm and blood welled up around the wounds as they pushed deeper and deeper, finally stopping when they struck bone.
“Help me, dude,” Sam shouted as her second hand took his arm. The red-haired creature placed all her weight onto him as she tried to climb inside. Her head bobbed up and down.
Budd realised that she would either succeed in getting into the back of the truck, or would drag Sam out.
I’d have been okay with the second scenario.
Don’t get me wrong, you know I liked Sam. But not enough to risk my favorite person—me—for.
However, the first outcome didn’t appeal to me in the slightest: just the thought of that red-haired she-devil—or any of her companions—getting into the truck made me shiver.
It spurred me into action.
Slowly…
Budd crept forward.
“Please, help me, dude!”
He reached Sam and stood b
ehind him. The young Californian had sunk to the floor, desperate to keep himself from being pulled out. Budd aimed the shotgun, but knew instinctively that firing it would be a bad idea; with all the metal along the truck’s rear, some of the shot was likely to rebound untold directions.
Shooting myself would be stupid…
He reversed the shotgun and battered its wooden stock against the red-haired woman’s face. The first blow squashed her nose to the side and split her upper lip. She didn’t let go, but spat blood with venomous anger, still battling to climb Sam’s arms.
Budd struck her again, and again, knocking teeth from her mouth and smashing her left cheekbone so that her face was hollow and pulpy. Even so, she would not release her hold.
In the corner of his eye, Budd caught sight of another attacker, a male in a blue suit. He was gaining on the truck with every step.
Starting at his legs, Budd swayed as the truck finished its wide turn and accelerated. The creature in the blue suit threw himself forwards and caught hold of the rim with both hands, his body bouncing, dragged across the grass. Behind the truck, the other creatures began to fade into the fog as the vehicle picked up speed.
Two freaks to go and we were home and dry. At least as far as the airfield…
“Please, dude,” Sam said. The red-haired woman pulled the top half of her body into the back of the truck.
Budd tossed the shotgun behind him so that it landed close to where Becky sat cowering, her arms wrapped around her knees. He picked up the chainsaw and pulled the ripcord.
The motor roared into life and the familiar smell of burnt fuel filled his nostrils. He revved the blade and looked down at the red-haired woman. She was almost entirely inside, lying on top of Sam as he battled to free himself.
“No amount of make-up will hide this,” Budd shouted, laughing, and then he lowered the blade, looking to sever her legs, which were the only parts of her body he could attack without risking injury to Sam.
Before the racing blade reached her flesh, Budd felt something brush his boot. He looked down to find the blue-suited businessman’s arm around his ankle. Reacting in panic, Budd tried to steer the blade in that direction.
He was too late.
The blue-suited man tugged him over.
He tumbled out of the truck, speeding towards ground. Instinctively, he threw out his left hand and grabbed the rim. All he could see was the soft grass that whizzed along beneath him, knocking against his legs, but then he felt the blue-suited man seize his flesh. They were side by side, almost touching. Budd reached up to hold the rim with his right hand.
The chainsaw was gone.
You might think that being groped by a blue-suited monster and having the lower half of my body chafed and battered by the grass was enough reason to let go. And, let’s be honest, the truck wasn’t the most desirable place in the world.
Even so, I’d have happily clung to that rim with my teeth.
I didn’t fancy letting go and trying to escape the horde that I was sure would still be chasin’ the sound of the truck. They weren’t too happy to see their lunch get away. And just as frightening as that, if not more so, would be deciding what direction to take: I’d bounce and roll if I let go, and the truck would be out of sight by the time I came to my senses. That’s my kind of luck.
I’d probably end up running headlong into the damned creatures behind us…
Budd felt a thud above him.
He looked up to find Sam’s head over the rim, his face pointing skyward. A bump through the suspension turned the Californian’s face towards him, his shoulder-length dark hair hanging down, his eyes wide with fear.
There was a vast open wound on the younger man’s neck. It had been ripped or bitten open, the flesh and muscle exposed as blood pumped from between the strands.
Sam tried to speak but there was no sound.
Tears flowed from his eyes.
Budd gagged, but then he felt the hand of the blue-suited businessman upon him once more, taking hold of a fistful of his hair. He tried to free himself, punching the man-beast as best he could with his left hand.
As he fought, Budd watched the red-haired woman come into view, towering above him, blood oozing from her swollen and deformed face. She dropped to her knees, her bloody fingertips reaching for Budd’s neck.
Despite my earlier reservations, I prepared to let go and try getting back to the airfield alone. Somehow, I didn’t think the old she-devil was about to give me a hand up…
The cold nails of the red-haired woman press against Budd’s flesh. Her mouth edged closer, teeth snapping, but then a red and orange flash filled the space behind her and she somersaulted out of the truck, spinning through the air above him.
The sound of the shotgun echoed away.
The blue-suited businessman let go of Budd’s hair and hauled himself inside, responding to the new danger. He was barely halfway up before the shotgun fired again.
His headless corpse toppled back to bounce along the turf.
Budd pulled himself over the truck’s rim. He raised his head, looking into the furthest corner of the canvas-covered interior. Becky was standing with the shotgun in her hands.
Smoke drifted from the twin barrels.
“Thanks, Snot-nose. I owe you one.”
43
Budd took the shotgun from Becky and reloaded it with two more shells from his pocket. He sat down in the corner of the truck and shut his eyes, letting the darkness soothe his racing mind and beating heart. When he opened them, Becky had cuddled up next to him. She was looking at Sam’s ruined body.
“Will he be a bad man now?”
I thought ’bout it and realized that I didn’t know.
Had Sam been bitten before he died, or had his red-haired playmate killed him with her hands? Did it even matter? The real question was, would I wait to find out? You’re a badass like me, so I bet you already know the answer…
Budd crawled to the body, which he manhandled over the truck’s rim. Sam’s lifeless corpse rolled to a stop on the grass and vanished into the fog.
“That’s two I owe you, Snot-nose,” Budd said as he sat back down.
Becky rested her head against his arm.
Budd glanced at her, amazed at how peaceful her small face had become. He looked up and watched the gray nothingness roll by until he finally saw the vast shadow of the maintenance hangar glide past them. Its electric lights twinkled in the foggy gloom and the sight of it stirred him to his feet. He led Becky to the edge of the truck and squatted down by the rim. They were off the grass and back on the road. Once the maintenance hangar had vanished again, the truck turned to the left, winding its way up a slight incline. He knew they were close.
The truck slowed, and all around them the fog’s gray coloring filled with light. They had entered the main hangar. When the truck stopped, Budd climbed out and lifted Becky down. He had the shotgun in his hands but cast a searching eye back over the truck-bed one last time. Disappointed, he accepted that the chainsaw was gone.
Not that it mattered. We were home free…
“Where’s the other guy?” Sanders said as he arrived from the truck’s cab.
“We picked up a couple of hitchhikers.”
“Pity. Are you bitten?”
“Not this time, buddy. I try not to make a habit of it.”
“Right, follow me.”
Budd took hold of Becky’s small hand and walked a few paces behind the soldier as they crossed the inside of the aircraft hangar. The truck was parked off to the side, a little inside the main doors. He looked around the vast, tall interior, recognizing the collection of aircraft that were parked along the rear wall. There were two Cessna 182’s, a Mooney Bravo, and, most importantly of all, a Beech King Air 350LR.
The hangar had several offices, a washroom, and a recreation room built along the inner edges of its two sides. The polished concrete floor was mostly tidy; stepladders, fuel trucks, and electric carts were pushed to the extremities of t
he open space.
The Beech King was in the far corner of the hangar, and parked next to it was a yellow fuel truck. The sound of the compressor pumping aviation fuel into the aircraft echoed beneath the high ceiling. Father McGee was standing beside it and waved as they approached. Budd returned the gesture although his eyes didn’t stay with the old priest.
He was looking for Juliette.
She appeared from the aircraft’s open hatch, dropped down the small set of metal steps and run across the hangar to greet him. She jumped into his arms and wrapped hers around his neck. With a kiss on his cheek she dropped to the floor. “You are safe, Monsieur Ashby.”
“I told you I’d be fine, snowflake.”
A man could get used to a welcome like that. I had a dog once that was very similar. Did I already mention my first wife? Okay…
Juliette looked at Sanders but the soldier continued walking, heading straight to Father McGee. “Where is Monsieur Andy and Sam?”
Budd ran his hand through his hair. “They didn’t make it.”
Juliette’s face filled with sorrow and her dark eyes glistened with tears. “I am sorry.”
“But, I’d like to introduce you to my newest friend. Her name’s Snot-nose.”
The little girl laughed as Juliette knelt down in front of her. “No it isn’t,” she said. “My name is Becky.”
“It is nice to meet you, Becky. My name is Juliette. Do not listen to Monsieur Ashby. He is very silly.”
Becky laughed a little more and then Juliette clasped her hand and stood up. “Shall we get you strapped into the aeroplane? We are leaving soon.”
Budd gave Juliette a wink, then started walking towards where Father McGee and Sanders were conversing. As soon as Becky realized she was to be separated from Budd, she stopped and tugged on Juliette’s arm. “I want to be with him,” the little girl said, pointing at Budd.