by Abbey, Kit
“Gwen!” William kept his voice low, although there was really no point now. “What the fuck?”
“It tickles,” giggled Gwen, brushing her fingers along the leaves of the bushes.
“Time for plan b then,” said Jones.
“What’s plan b?”
The patrols were slowly advancing upon them, weapons raised.
“I take out as many as I can before they bring us down.”
“That’s an awful plan.”
“You got a better idea?” asked Jones, rolling his shoulders.
“I don’t even like Jelly,” said Gwen, “but I make it almost every day. Daisy can’t get enough of the stuff.” Her face darkened, as though thoughts of Daisy were going to snap her out of it. But then she started giggling again.
“Stay where you are.” The guy was tall and in his thirties and apparently the leader of the patrols. “Put your hands up.” They were surrounded now, and while most of the men and women looked unsure about that they were actually doing there, they were well armed.
Jones tensed and William put a hand on his arm. As if William’s little arm would slow the werewolf down for even a nanosecond if he decided to start dismembering people. Someone had to do something, and as Gwen’s idea of something right then was to coo up at the stars, and Jones idea of something was to liberate some blood, it looked like it was to William to decide what his idea of something was.
He took a deep breath.
“Who the hell do you think you are,” he snapped at the head patrol guy, “are you as stupid as you look? Put that gun down!”
The man lowered his rifle a fraction before lifting it up again.
“We’ve got instructions to shoot anyone who tries to leave,” he said. A few of the others nodded in agreement, although no one pulled any triggers.
“Yes,” William drew the word out, imagining he was talking to a dumb kid, not a really tall guy with a gun. “And who gave you those instructions?”
“It was, that’s..” The guy clearly did not want to say it. He shifted the gun in his hands, “it’s not your concern! Put your hands up.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” William rolled his eyes. And then he rolled them again. Eye rolling was key. “We’re Grey Corp, you idiot. Put your damn guns down right now, before my good mood runs out and I have every last god damned one of you taken in.”
“I said put your hands”-
“Do you know, if you slice open the stomach of an average man and start pulling out his intestines, he won’t die?” William took a few steps towards the guy, who tightened his grip on the gun but did not shoot, “at least, not right away. He won’t even pass out. He’ll feel every excruciating second of it.” He was right up in the guy’s face now. “Can you even begin to imagine what that would be like? To look down and see your insides heaped on the ground in a steaming pile?”
The guy swallowed.
“We don’t really have time for this,” said Jones and his voice a perfect mix of boredom and impatience.
“Pop goes the weasel,” agreed Gwen.
William stepped back, and the guy gave a relieved sigh. He tried to cover up this momentarily lapse by waving his gun at William.
“We’re just following orders,” he said, “we weren’t told nothing about-”
“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed the woman, “what is that thing?”
William and the guy turned. A lone zombie had moved into the range of the flood lights, and was advancing towards William with odd, jerky movements.
“What’s wrong with him?” Asked another.
“Holy shit,” said someone else, “dude’s got a rabbit trap stuck on his foot, look!”
William looked, and sure enough the zombie’s foot was encased in a nasty looked metal device, covered in glittering black blood.
“Hey, idiots.” William snapped his fingers. “you gonna shoot it or invite it home for tea?”
A general air of confusion hung about for a moment more, and then the zombie was cut down by at least seven simultaneous bullets.
“Typical civilians,” said William, his ears ringing angrily. He rolled his eyes. “waste no time aiming your guns at employees, but almost let one of the things we have you guarding wander out.”
The guy was staring down at the twice dead body, eyes wide. “What was that?”
“Don’t worry your little head about it,” said William. “Just get back to your patrols, and shoot anything that tries to leave.”
“And you might want to be a more economical with your ammunition,” said Jones.
The guy nodded quickly, his eyes still wide and trained on the zombie.
Half expecting a bullet in the back, William turned and began to stride away.
He was not followed by a slug of lead, only Jones and Gwen.
“Do you know,” mocked Jones quietly, “that if you slice open the stomach of an average man-”
“Shut up,” said William.
Jones snorted. “Looks like Rowan did manage to teach you something, against all odds.”
“My fingernails feel funny,” said Gwen.
“What’s wrong with her?” Jones held a branch up out of the way and guided Gwen under it, and it nearly smacked William in the face when he let it go.
“I think it’s the blood,” said William, glaring at Jones’ back.
“Blood? What?”
“The zombie blood. It’s Albert’s blood mixed with corpse blood. I got some on me before, and Gwen did when she was trying to hold them off. Hurts like a motherfucker when it hits you, but only for a little bit.”
“And then it makes you act like this?”
“I guess so.”
They trudged on to sound of Gwen’s soft giggling.
William felt like he was stumbling on every single root, rock and rabbit hole they passed. He could barely see where he was going, partly because it was dark, mostly because his eyes kept closing of their own accord.
And then he stepped, and there were no rabbit holes or rocks or roots. There was nothing but air. He fell, hitting the ground with a grunt and rolling a short distance, shrubbery and stones ripping at his already ripped skin and clothes. He came to a halt on ground that was not soft, not covered in plants and bugs and animal shit. It was a road, and nothing had ever felt sweeter than the jagged bitumen pressing into his cheek at that moment.
He turned his head to kiss it.
“When you’re finished” said Jones, “we need to double back around to my car.”
William stopped kissing the road. He looked up at Jones and a vacantly smiling Gwen “No.” He said. “No. No way in hell are we doing that.”
“We are not leaving it.”
“Oh my god, what is the sick obsession you have with that thing? It’s just a beat up old car!”
“Well how do you suggest we get back to the Grey building without it?” snapped Jones.
“I don’t know!” William rubbed his eyes. “But there has a got to be an easier way than trekking for God knows how long through zombies and gun toting locals and employees and freaking fire!”
“We are stuck in the middle of nowhere, what other option do we have? Do you want to walk?”
“I’m not going back in there.” William pointed to the trees. “Nothing on this planet could make me go back in there!”
“We don’t have a choice!”
“We could start walking and hitch a ride.”
“Who the hell is going to be on this road tonight? Employees and people driving towards the fire Lachlan started, and that’s it!”
William folded his arms and scowled. “I’m not moving.”
The words had barely left his mouth before he was madly scrabbling off the road. Jones grabbed him by the collar and practically threw him up the embankment he’d rolled down. He was not far behind, dragging Gwen. They kept their faces down, Jones keeping a hand on Gwen’s head to make sure it stayed down.
The roaring noise that had sent them scrambling for cover grew louder, until eventually a truck rounded the corner. What trucks did William see in the city? Glorified vans and four wheel drives. Maybe the occasional moving truck, with their neat, canvas covered carriages, happy pictures on the side.
This thing was to those vehicles what a UFO was to a hand-glider. It was bigger, and louder, and brighter. It was lit up with thousands of lights, like the rich houses leading up to Christmas, and its high beams flooded the road like a tidal wave. But its attack on William’s eyes and ears was nothing compared to the assault on his noise. Oh god, it stank. He could feel himself gagging, and it was only the fact that he had not eaten since the day before that stopped him from vomiting.
He took a deep breath, planning to not breath again until the reeking monster was long gone. This plan was foiled when, breaks screaming, it began to slow down.
“Why is it stopping?” said William, almost shouting to be heard, “did it see us?”
Jones didn’t answer. He also didn’t seem to be affected by the smell. Which was just plain unfair. He had super smelling powers, he should have been rolling around and trying to claw his nose off his face. The trucks engine cut off, and all they could hear then was the tick, tick, tick of the motor as it began to cool, and the crunch of gravel as the driver jumped out of the cab, and bleating.
William’s mind did a double take. “Do you hear sheep?”
“One for the little boy who lives down the lane,” sang Gwen.
“It’s a livestock transport” said Jones. He lifted his head and peered down at the scene. “He’s checking his brakes before he starts up the hill.”
“So he’ll be gone soon?” said William, “my nose can begin the healing process?”
“We need to get on it.”
“Um, no. It smells really bad.”
“Fine,” snapped Jones, “then we double back around to my car.”
“No, your car is far away, and there are zombies and junk.”
“Then we need to get on that truck.”
William sighed, and then regretted the action that drew a whole bunch of the smelly air into his lungs at once. “Alright, fine.”
William started to stand up, but Jones yanked him harshly back down. “No, we need to wait until he’s already started the engine.”
“Why?”
“So he can’t hear the sheep panicking.”
“If the sound of that truck doesn’t make them panic, I don’t think the three of us will.”
“The truck is not part werewolf,” Jones pointed out tersely.
“Oh. Possibly it’s part bog monster though,” said William.
The driver climbed back up into his cab, and soon enough the engine roared back to life. Jones and William each grabbed one of Gwen’s arms, and they bolted down to the truck. If ever William would have wished for the laws of logic to fail, it would be now. But the stench of a hundred scared sheep only got worse the closer they got. William felt like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.
The back of the truck was like two gigantic wooden crates placed on top of each other, with the side boards spaced far apart. Jones gripped the bottom rung and pulled himself up, he tugged hard at one of the planks until it buckled and snapped, giving him enough roof to shimmy through.
Sure enough, the sheep did not approve of his presence. The begun to dance back and forth in agitation, but the engine covered up any noise they were making. William held one of Gwen’s hands up for Jones to grasp. He pulled her roughly inside. She was just through the hole when the truck began to move, and William hastily clambered up into the stink hole.
He landed awkwardly, not on the floor, but on the layers of sheep shit that coated the floor. The truck vibrated madly as it moved, and any conversation was out of the question.
Not that Gwen needed words to get her feeling across. She stopped smiling, held her head in her hands, and vomited.
And William had thought the truck could not smell any worse.
Chapter 71.
William shifted on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. It was starting to rain again, the drops made a tink tink tink noise as they hit the roof. This and the sound of the uncooked ramen noodles crunching between his teeth was all William could hear. The curtains were open, but the room was still dark. There were no street lights or passing headlights to illuminate it. It was easier to remember how alone you really were outside of the city.
Maybe when all this was over he’d send the family whose house they’d broken into some money, to cover the cost of the gas they’d used up showering (and by ‘they’ he meant Jones and Gwen, the shower had been cold by the time William got to it. (It was still the best shower he’d ever had)), and the food that they’d eaten, and the clothes they’d taken. Providing that he was still alive when all this was over.
He shifted on the couch, trying to find a position where springs didn’t dig into his back. He could dimly make out cracks spider-webbing across the ceiling. They were comforting, it was almost like being back at Janet and Carl’s. The ceilings in the Grey building were smooth and white and pristine, or home to Albert. William gave a soft little half laugh. He never thought he’d see the day when thoughts of Janet and Carl’s house would inspire fond feelings of nostalgia.
He stretched, letting the now empty noodle packet drift down to the floor. The rain was getting its act together, pounding insistently on the roof. William closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could almost pretend that the rain was covering up the sounds of traffic and sirens and shouting. That all of these familiar sounds were just outside, not hours away. That he was in the city, not in some tiny little farm house in the middle of nowhere. He was in his old room, this couch was certainly uncomfortable enough to pass for his old bed, if he opened his eyes he would see murky blue walls, chipped and scarred, glowing in the light the train station across the road tossed through his window. Carl would be at work, and Janet would be watching a late night movie and reading one of her romance books at the same time. The crack at the bottom of his door would flicker in time with the television.
The memories settled themselves softly around William like a blanket, and sleep followed not far behind.
Chapter 72.
He woke slowly, suspended for long moments in the space between real life and dreaming. It was dark and raining still, and a cold draft twirled around his toes. Groggily, he sat up. He wondered what time it was, and his bladder answered that it was time to pee. The toilet, he remembered, was next to the bathroom, which was down the passageway. He padded a crooked path down the hall.
The back door was open, which explained the chill air. Had it blown open, or had someone opened it? Gwen was sleeping in the master bedroom, which was back the way William had come. He was pretty sure the door had been closed when he’d passed it. Jones was in the other bedroom, which was near the bathroom. William advanced slowly down the hall and peeked his head around the corner. The door to Jones’ room was open. William moved closer, trying to see if the bed was empty or containing Jones. This brought him closer to the back door. He glanced out, and the questions of Jones’ whereabouts and why the door was even open were answered.
Gwen was sitting on the back porch, shoulders hunched and shaking with sobs. Jones stood just behind her, obviously awkward and unsure of what to do. But he made no move to leave her alone, and as William watched he reached a decision and crouched down to place a hand on her back.
William quietly took care of his business and made his way back to the couch. Gwen hadn’t passed him to return to her bed when he finally slipped back into sleep sometime later.
Chapter 73.
The second time he woke, it was to sunlight and music.
Jones was sitting cross legged on the living room floor, his back to William. He’d raided the same wardrobe as William, although on him the clothes were a slightly better fit.
‘I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU AND
I WILL BEAT YOUR ASS’ proclaimed the back of the red shirt in loud yellow letters. Underneath, smaller but no less yellow, ‘Yo La Tengo Australian tour, 2007.’
William sat up, rubbing the gunk out of his eyes. “What’s a Yo La Tengo?”
Jones shrugged, “I don’t know, what’s a Sufjan Stevens?” It was a rather abstract answer. “Whoever lives here has strange music taste,” he went on, “but I did find a jar of cash, which is helpful. Grey Corp will have emptied our accounts by now.”
William leaned over the arm of the couch and saw that Jones had a small cd player set up in front of him, and a pile of CDs next to it. William slid of the couch and moved to sit next to him. Jones passed a CD to William.
‘Seven Swans’ was scrawled across the cover, but misleadingly only one swan was pictured. The music was soft, all lightly twanging banjo and hushed vocals.
“It sounds alright,” said William.
Jones shrugged again. They sat quietly and listened to it for a while.
“So, what’s the plan now?” asked William.
Jones reached over and turned the music off. “The train to the City stops not far from here, around 10ish. We’ll catch it and figure out our next move from there.”
“How do you know that?” Asked William.
“I used to work around here, when I was younger,” said Jones. “Picking oranges.”
“Picking… Oranges…” William was having trouble picturing this.
“What about Oranges?”
Jones and William both turned at the sound of Gwen’s voice, and William decided not to notice that she’d come from the direction of the kid’s bedroom, where Jones had been sleeping and not the master one.
“Jones used to pick them,” said William.
Gwen sat down on the floor between them, wearing jeans and a pink sweatshirt. These clothes fit her much better then the ones William and Jones were stuck with.
“Fair enough,” she said, running a hand threw her hair, teasing out stray tangles. “But instead of talking about fruit, shouldn’t we be getting a plan together?”
“The train to the city leaves in,” Jones leant back to catch a view of the clock in the hall, “half an hour. We’ll catch it.”