by Craig Jones
It actually seemed that this whole side of the city was clear of the undead menace. We’d not seen a single one since Clayton had been snatched from the back of the Jeep. The evidence that both types of undead actually did exist was even more visible during this drive than it had been during the other expeditions.
“It’s like they’ve got a hierarchy,” Gordon suggested. “The fast ones are in charge and the slow ones are like worker ants.”
“Maybe it’s the other way around,” said the driver. “After all, it’s the Remakes that do all the hard work.”
Chris stood firm on his argument.
“No, no, no,” he disagreed. “The fast ones are the ones that have been eating. The slow ones are the ones that have been starving. That’s why we saw the slow ones around the stadium. They were looking for food.”
That seemed to win the debate for Chris until Robbie, who sat on the back seat between Gordon and me, spoke up.
“Maybe… maybe the fast ones are the ones that are starting to remember…” he paused, his bottom lip quivering just a little as we crossed a four lane overpass. “And maybe the slow ones are forgetting who they were.”
His idea must have seemed absurd. But I knew Nick had recognized his son, recognized me, and let us pass unharmed. The soldiers in the Jeep with us had never witnessed that shift in the behavior of the undead. They had only seen the hungry, destructive nature that lurked in what was left of their brains. I waited, poised and ready to defend Robbie in case they’d decided to mock him, but the Jeep fell silent. I glanced around at each of the troops and they all had stern, thoughtful expressions etched across their faces. Robbie’s words had held some sort of resonance for them, that was for sure.
“You might just be right,” Chris finally said. “They didn’t just get lucky back there. They set a trap and we fell right into it.”
“They were watching us!” I blurted.
“What?”
“The day we were collecting fuel for this trip! I said I saw something. They were watching us!”
Chris shook his head. “Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t.”
“How can you be so dismissive?” My anger suddenly flared. “If we’d have checked then we’d have saved all those lives.”
Chris turned in his seat to face me.
“Listen, kid, just don’t make this worse than it is. The general is going to be blowing steam out of his ears as it is, so highlighting anyone’s mistakes is going to make life Hell for them. And you don’t want to do that, do you?”
I shook my head. It had been Chris who had ignored my plea to check out what I had thought I’d seen. No wonder he didn’t want me to raise the point with his boss.
We rolled into the truck stop half an hour later with no further incident. Once we had escaped the tight and claustrophobic atmosphere of the city I, expected the air of oppression to depart, but if anything, the anxiety in the Jeep grew more intense. I felt more exposed, more vulnerable to attack. Above all else, despite being with the four soldiers and Robbie, I felt lonely. I’d watched movies with Danny where the world was coming to an end and there was always another group of people--someone else to lend a hand-- someone asking for help, but we didn’t see another soul. Back during the first epidemic, I’d resented other people impinging on our safety, but now I craved to see another human begging for help. Just so I knew we weren’t the last ones standing. I understood that General Rogers had been in touch with other groups like ours and that the evacuation of Great Britain was well underway, but until I saw another person, I couldn’t escape from the clinging thought that we were it: the last men on earth.
We pulled into the truck stop’s parking lot and my heart leapt. Two of the buses from the stadium were parked next to the walls of the rest room, forming a protective U and the Army troop transport filled the gap, guns trained on us as we approached. Rogers was the first one through the cordon to meet us with his arms extended and a welcoming smile on his face. That smile made my stomach tighten. His lips were displaying one emotion while his eyes told me something else. His arms called us into the safety of his fold, but the tightness across his shoulders revealed a man on the edge.
“Well you made it boys,” he said and shook each of us by the hand. When he came to Robbie, he dropped to one knee and ruffled his hair. “You’re safe now,” he told him.
I was ready to forget the chill he sent down my spine when he was prepared to at least behave so thoughtfully towards Robbie. My mood lightened when I saw Captain Bateman passing out food rations for his team to distribute to the survivors. He caught my eye from across the parking lot and gave me a deep nod as he swigged down water from a plastic bottle.
Once everyone had eaten, Rogers summoned us all to him.
“I can’t sugar coat this,” he announced to everyone as we gathered in front of the troop transport and boosted himself up onto its roof. “We’ve lost half of our civilians and we have just twenty-one members of the military left. I have underestimated the enemy. We are all lucky to be alive. For underestimating them, I am deeply sorry. I am sorry for every life that was left back there.”
Heads were bowed around me. I put my arm around Robbie’s shoulders and pulled him close to me as I considered the fates of Bill, Amanda, and their daughter Emma. A selfish part of me was glad it was the little girl that had been snatched through the rear window of the bus instead of Robbie, but that didn’t mean I wished it had never happened.
“But we need to be strong. We need to carry on. We shall rest here tonight. Regroup. And then tomorrow we shall continue our mission. Bath University. It’s where the solution lies. And then on to the Channel Tunnel and freedom, where we’ll find safety.”
Heads lifted in the crowd. Heads bobbed in agreement. Rogers had become the motivational leader once more. People were scared, on the verge of giving up, but he was rallying them. He was making them believe that we were going to be safe. He was making me believe we were going to make it.
“Those creatures are different. They have some sort of rudimentary intelligence. But they are not human beings. We are human beings. And we shall endure.”
He paused again, and this time I felt myself sucked in to his rhetoric.
“Because we have to endure. Because if we don’t, then nobody else will. Ever.”
20
The chugging of the bus engine coming to life woke me from my slumber. I’d had no idea how tired I was and I’d doubted that sleep would have taken me so easily, but it welcomed me into its arms. I stretched out in the cramped bus seat, pushing the blanket that had kept me warm. My first thought was of Robbie. I wanted him by my side at every opportunity. He was my responsibility and for once in my selfish life, I wanted to take that seriously.
I sat up quickly. My injured body screamed at me to just lie down and go back to sleep. The scuffs on my knees and elbows would heal quickly enough, but the shoulder that had absorbed the brunt of the rifle recoil was an ugly purple under my shirt. My lower back was tight, aching and sore. The tension eased when I saw Robbie still asleep in the seat opposite me. He looked peaceful. I stood up and dragged my blanket over him, tucking it under his chin, hoping the vibrations of the bus would continue to soothe him.
I strode to the front of the bus.
“How long before we move out?” I asked Davis, our driver.
“Five minutes, Matt,” he replied. “Bateman wants to see you before we head out. You were sleeping when he…hang on. Here he comes.”
Captain Bateman walked across the parking lot towards us, raising his hand in a wave when he saw me. I stepped down off the bus through the open door.
“How are you doing?” he asked, a narrow smile on his face.
“I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with the general but apart from that, I’m okay.”
“Good, good,” he replied. “But you look exhausted. I know you’ll push yourself if I’ll let you, so I’m making the decision for you. Rest for the first part of the journey. Spend some
time with Robbie. He looks up to you. Keep him in a good place.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, but I was delighted.
“Positive. Rest up for when we need you. We’ve got plenty of people who can help us keep watch. You need to relax. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with honest gratitude.
He smiled and walked away. I climbed back onto the bus, the steps up making my back cry out. Davis pointed to where he’d stashed a number of firearms.
“I heard you did good out there. If we get in trouble, grab what you think you can handle, and I’ll be right by your side.”
I nodded, thankful for the support and returned to my seat. As I strolled up the aisle, people met my eyes and smiled. I saw respect in their expressions. I also saw pain. Everyone on the bus has lost someone they loved to the zombies. It may have happened in the last day or it may have happened over the last month, but each and every one of us was suffering. It bonded us, it brought us together. And they’d seen what I’d been doing, helping the troops, and they respected me for it.
If only they knew the truth.
All of those people had died because of my selfish actions. I’d been trying to save Danny’s life--if what he was at the end could ever be defined as actually being alive. Robbie was clinging to me like a parent and I was the one who caused his father and his sister to be bitten and turned into the undead. He was looking up to me and just a few hours ago, I’d been ready to put a bullet in his head. The thought of that boy being bitten scared me more than the fear of getting infected myself.
Lost in my thoughts, I watched the world outside pass by. The roads were mostly clear but there were signs of spillages, crashes and death across every mile. We stopped twice while the bigger wreckages were moved out of our path, and we only saw one of the living dead. The female zombie had been the front seat passenger in a Volvo that had spun off the road and impacted with the base of a lamp post. She’d not been wearing a seat belt and had been thrown against the windshield. She’d gotten impaled on a foot long shard of glass. At some point before she’d been able to die naturally, something had come along and taken a bite out of her face, guaranteeing she’d come back hungry. As the troops moved the cars out of the way, she hissed at them, her hands reaching out, fingers like talons trying to grab hold of her final meal.
Rogers sent his men back to their transports and calmly walked across to the squirming corpse. He placed the muzzle of his pistol against her forehead and held it there. I couldn’t see his mouth, but I could see his cheeks moving as though he was talking to her. Then the gun boomed and her head slumped down to the bonnet; her brains spread across the roof of the car. He turned and saw me watching. With no hint of a smile, he mimicked blowing smoke away from the gun barrel and re-holstered it with a flourish. Then he took his cap off, wiped the sweat from his forehead, touched his scar with an index finger, winked at me, and walked away.
Robbie had woken a couple of times during the drive, but he was more exhausted than I was. He’d eaten when food had been handed out and had even asked if he could have the chocolate bar that had been included in my rations. I’d tried chatting with him until he told me he was ready to go back to sleep, and I decided I’d do the same thing. The convoy began to pick up speed, and soon the rhythmic motion of the journey began to send me back to sleep.
Shouts from the front of the bus woke me. My eyes snapped open.
“Matt! Matt! Get up here!” Davis was calling for me and the bus was quickly coming to a halt.
“Hawkins! Now!”
I jumped to my feet and ran to the front of the bus.
“Why are we stopping? What’s…”
I looked out through the windshield and over the top of the troop transporter that headed the convoy. The armored vehicle had already come to a complete halt. It had to. It could go no further.
The road ahead was blocked by thousands of zombies.
CURE
21
The zombies lined the road. There was no way through them and no way around them. They stood in rows and columns like Roman Centurions ready for battle. Their shoulders rose and fell as one, the rhythmic breathing of an undead herd. Lips were peeled back to reveal those uncharacteristic bright white teeth and fists were clenched tightly, as if they were trying to hold back their inner rage and their insatiable hunger for fresh human flesh. Every now and then, one would shake its head in an uncontrollable spasm, jaw rattling, eyes widening and then they’d stop, seemingly back in control of their animalistic urges.
The radio on Davis’s lap crackled.
“Hold your positions,” Rogers growled from inside the lead vehicle. “Let them make the first move.”
Davis grabbed the walkie-talkie.
“Yes, sir!”
Nobody was moving, human or zombie. It was a standoff. They had the numbers, that much was for sure, but maybe they’d learned that they could be hurt; that we had the means to stop them in their tracks. I just didn’t believe we could stop this many of them. They were at least twenty abreast, and I stopped counting after reaching the thirtieth row. They didn’t stretch back to the horizon. That would have been an exaggeration, but they didn’t have to in order to fill us with terror. Behind me on the bus, I could hear people start to sob. Only one voice spoke up.
“It’s over,” someone said clearly.
Davis let the radio drop onto his thighs, and he gripped the steering wheel to stop his hands from shaking. It didn’t work.
“What is this?” I asked in a whispered voice, more to myself than anyone else.
“It’s a message,” Davis replied, finally dragging his eyes from the almost tidal movement, the rise and fall of the zombies. “That they could wipe us out whenever they want to.”
“Will you shut up?” I snapped, trying to keep my tone clipped and my voice as quiet as possible. “There’re kids on here! Don’t scare--”
“Don’t scare them? They can see for themselves how hopeless this has become. We should have all stayed in the stadium! If we’d--”
This time the radio cut Davis off mid-sentence.
“There’s movement! Stay alert.”
My eyes drifted down to the radio handset. I’d seen nothing, but when I looked up again there was a ripple emanating from the center of the horde. Something was moving our way, and the undead were allowing it through. From the slightly elevated position at the front of the bus, I could see what was causing the shift. Some of the zombies were working their way to the front. Their progress was slow, almost as if it was being dramatically staged to give it a greater fear factor. The creatures in the front line finally stepped aside and three of the undead stepped out of the crowd, stopping a few yards short of the troop transport.
The first of them was a tall, muscular black man. He was shirtless and wore gym sweats and training shoes. It looked like he’d been attacked while he’d been working out. Bite marks painted an ugly tattoo down his left deltoid and bicep. His eyes were the same cold and dead grey I’d seen in Danny’s face, and his teeth chattered constantly, his head twitching from side to side every few seconds. Next to him, in the middle of the three, there was a short, rotund blonde female. Her long hair was streaked with what must have been dried blood. Her chin was also smeared red and her emaciated cheeks were pulled tight as she bared her pristine teeth. She wore a filthy shirt and jeans. The fingers of her left hand were missing and the stumps oozed something black and sticky. When she moved her thumb, the gelatinous gloop clung and stretched like a web of a mutant spider. The final zombie stood on her left. Could that be…?
“Dad!”
Robbie sprinted down the aisle, and I had to grab hold of him to stop him from throwing himself at the windshield of the bus.
“Dad! Dad!” he hollered.
The radio burst to life.
“What the hell is that noise?” Rogers demanded.
I managed to get my hand over Robbie’s mouth as he wriggled in my arms, muting his words to indeciph
erable grunts.
“Robbie! You’ve got to calm down!”
He shook his head free of my grip.
“But it’s Dad,” he sighed tearfully.
And he was right.
Nick stood looking over the top of the troop transport right at us. His skin was pale and mottled, pulled tightly over his face, but I’d recognize him anywhere. His neck was torn and bloody down one side, where the zombie had ravaged him after he’d leapt from the Range Rover to try to save his girls. He’d failed. The blood that had soaked his clothes had dried to a filthy purple stain. My own blood ran cold when he lifted his head and stared right at me. Then he raised a single index finger.
“What’s he doing?” Davis wondered aloud. Behind us, everyone was on their feet, peering out at the scene as the drama slowly unfolded.
And then I realized what was happening. He wasn’t staring at me. He was staring at Robbie. Nick turned to the massed ranks of the undead and with his finger still raised, he signaled for them to move to the left and right. The woman snapped her teeth, shaking her head violently from side to side. Nick pulled his lips back to show his gritted teeth and she backed off. The black man walked aside. And then the horde parted, leaving a passage down the middle that was wide enough for us to drive the bus through. Nick stepped backwards and off the road, his index finger still in the air, pointing the way between the zombies.
Rogers’s voice came back through the radio.
“It’s another trap!”
I snatched up the walkie-talkie.
“No! That’s Robbie’s father! He let us go once, he’s--”