As we sat, Walker went through the process of stripping each of our guns, checking them meticulously, and reloading each weapon. Jed had a spare magazine for his Glock, and Walker had one for his own weapon. He emptied them of ammunition, and then reloaded each of them. Finally, he emptied the shells from the little revolver and slid in fresh ones. He handed it to me without a word.
Everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to speak; sitting in a tight semi circle around the candle, even though it had long since been extinguished. The only sound in the room was the sound of Jed, eating with gluttonous ignorance, mouth open as he chewed, and thick sauce dribbling down the coarse dark stubble of his chin.
I sighed to myself.
My mouth was dry, and sweat was breaking out in the palms of my fists.
In the era of Napoleon, the British army had a peculiar tradition prior to engaging an enemy that was behind a fortified defense. The army called for volunteers to storm the ramparts, knowing that the first attack was likely to be a desperate, suicidal assault. They called the men the ‘forlorn hope’. I looked at the faces around me and wondered whether the wretched thing we were about to do would end in the same monstrous bloodshed – with the same tragic results.
“When we get outside, we stay together – no matter what,” I said, looking pointedly in the direction of my brother. “We move as a group.”
Walker nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “No one goes off alone. We look for a car and we do it moving in a tight knot, with every gun covering every angle.”
The nylon bag was heavier now, weighed down with the ransacked supplies we had gathered from searching the house. I zipped it shut, and slid it across to Jed. “It’s your responsibility,” I said. “You’re big enough to lug it, and not be slowed down. If I put that thing on my back I’ll buckle at the knees.”
Jed’s face soured suspiciously. “Let Harrigan carry it,” he said. “Or G.I. Joe, here. Why has it gotta be me?”
I sighed again. “Because Harrigan is going to be watching the girl, and Walker is going to be taking the lead,” I said patiently. “You’re the only choice – unless you’re prepared to put your life on the line, if need be, to keep the girl safe.”
Jed thought about that – for less than a second. He nodded and dragged the bag towards him. He got to his feet and tested the weight of it slung over his shoulders, looking at me defiantly as though the bag weighed nothing at all.
The gesture reminded me once again why my brother was so dangerous; he was a dumb, ignorant, selfish brute. Jed was a thug. It was as simple as that. I could trust him – but only to do what was in his own best interests. As long as our efforts served his purpose, he would be a reluctant part of the group.
But not for a single moment longer.
Once the group outlived its usefulness, I knew that I too would have outlived his need for me. That would be the moment he would seek his revenge.
That would be the moment he would kill me.
We all got to our feet and drifted towards the front door, like a group of skydivers about to leap from a plane – without parachutes. I pulled on my leather jacket, and helped Harrigan shrug on his heavy coat. He had my Glock in one meaty fist and his crow-bar in the other. We exchanged a silent look, and then I wrapped my hand around the cold brass knob of the handle and took a long deep breath.
Walker stood right behind me, with Millie pressed at his side. Walker checked his weapon one last time, and I heard Jed and Harrigan do the same.
“It’s now, or never,” I said, the words like jagged glass in the back of my throat. I unlocked the door – and pulled it slowly open.
* * *
I went out the door and onto the porch, squinting into the bright glare of morning sunlight and feeling the slap of fresh warm air on my face. My heart was racing like a trip-hammer in my chest, and the sound of blood fizzing in my ears was almost deafening. I had the little revolver in my hand, arm extended, and I swept the barrel of the weapon in an arc that covered the lush green grass across the front lawn.
Nothing. I felt Walker’s bulky shape pressed against my side but I didn’t look at him. I heard the others, but my eyes stayed fixed and searching. There was no movement, no sound – not even the sound of birds or breeze.
Dead silence.
I hesitated for a split-second. I honestly don’t know what I had expected as I burst out through the doorway, but it wasn’t this. My nerves were drawn tight as a bow. I could feel the trembling tension in my thighs and arms.
I stole a glance at Walker. His face was grim, his mouth a thin line.
“Go!” he whispered, the single word inflected with anxiety and fear and urgency. “And don’t look back.” He shoved the flat of his hand between my shoulder blades.
I went.
I went at a run, leaping down from the low veranda and landing in the long grass. I could feel nervous sweat blistering across my brow and trickling down my back. After the heavy rains, the air was thick and humid. Sweat stung my eyes. My head twisted and turned, never still for a moment, and the pistol bounced and wavered with the jolt of every step.
I went left, through a low garden of bright yellow flowers, and glanced at the house up ahead.
It was a single story brick home, with a big bay window beneath an aluminum awning. The window had been broken, the frame twisted and mangled. I saw blood on the curtains and more blood on the window sill. I kept running.
There was a paved driveway on the opposite side of the house with a median strip of grass. I ran towards it. I could hear the scrabble of heavy pounding footsteps close behind me. I could feel Walker’s presence, seeming to hang over my shoulder like the shadow of death. I could hear ragged breathing and Harrigan grunting with the effort of keeping up with the group.
I reached the corner of the house and snapped a glance left. The driveway was empty. Where the pavers abruptly ended was a high wrought iron gate, and behind it a garage door.
I started to slow…
“No!” Walker breathed heavily, as though he could read my mind. “Keep going.”
I didn’t argue. I ran on towards the next house. The street was gradually curving, and as I rounded the gentle bend I saw a burned out car in the middle of the road. The car was sitting down on its steel rims. The tires had melted away. The windshield and side windows were all gone and the paintwork had been vaporized so all that remained of the sheet metal was scorched grey. The blacktop was bubbling, and tendrils of wispy smoke still drifted up into the morning sky.
There was a charred body beside the vehicle with a crow perched on its back, pecking at the remains. I couldn’t tell if the body was a man or a woman. The hair had been singed away and all that was left of the corpse were disfigured blackened lumps.
I looked up. The next house on the block was another single story brick home with a steeply angled roof, like maybe the owners had renovated and built extra space into the attic. There was a silver sedan on the front lawn, grass growing up around the tires, and a red station wagon parked in the driveway.
“Yes!” I heard Walker hiss, and his voice rose with triumph and relief. “Try the station wagon first.”
I veered towards the driveway. The wagon was a Honda Crosstour – maybe only twelve months old. The duco sparkled in the sunlight.
I went to the driver-side and snatched at the door handle. It was locked. I pressed my face hard against the window. I couldn’t see any keys in the ignition.
“Try the other doors!” Walker hissed at me. He went down into a crouch, his back pressed against the car, his gun swinging in an arc to cover the street.
Harrigan went to the other side of the car, and we tried every door. They were all locked.
“I’ll smash the fuckin’ window!” Jed snarled. He raised the butt of the Glock to use it like a hammer, but Walker snatched at his wrist.
“Forget it!” Walker hissed. “No noise. We’ll try the sedan.”
We moved in a tight knot towards the car par
ked on the front lawn. It was an old and tired Ford Taurus that looked like it had endured two decades of hard driving. The paintwork was dull, the windshield covered with a layer of dirt and grime. There were ugly scars of rust on the front fenders. The passenger side window had been lowered half an inch – maybe to let the heat out as the car sat baking under the summer sun. I tried the door. It was locked. I thrust my fingers into the gap between the window and pulled down hard. The glass moved a quarter of an inch, and then stopped.
“Here!” I heard Harrigan hiss. He was on the other side of the Taurus. He had the driver’s door open. He clambered into the car and reached across to unlock the doors.
I pulled open the door I was standing by and stole a glance around me. Walker was kneeling against the front fender, gun arm extended, covering the street. Jed was right behind Harrigan, with his gun arm extended towards the nature strip on the far side of the road. Walker’s daughter was standing behind me like a shadow. She was jigging with terror from foot to foot, the tension and simmering panic raw in her expression.
“Keys?” Walker hissed over his shoulder, never taking his eyes from the street.
“No,” Harrigan hissed. “Wait a minute.”
He pulled down the car’s sun visors. Nothing. He thrust his hands under the driver’s seat and then ransacked the cracked faded plastic pockets and crevices of the car’s console.
“We don’t have a minute!” Walker spat.
Harigan backed out of the car empty handed. Jed swore bitterly under his breath. “Want me to wire it?”
“Can you?” Walker called back at him.
“Give me a minute.”
“We don’t have a fucking minute!” Walker said again. I felt the panic in me rising. We were totally exposed – totally vulnerable, standing by the side of the road, clustered around a car in the blazing morning light.
“Fuck it!” Walker spat venomously. “There’s another car in the middle of the road about fifty yards away,” he fumed with frustration. “We’re going for it.”
We left the Taurus with its doors wide open and moved quickly towards the abandoned car. I felt Walker’s daughter clutch at my hand as we ran. Her grip was fierce, her finger nails digging into the flesh of my palm. Walker was in the lead. He went forward at a run, and Jed was beside him, their footsteps sounding loud as pounding hooves. Harrigan ran alongside the girl and me, but we couldn’t keep pace. Walker and Jed reached the car ten yards ahead of us.
It was a blue Japanese sedan, left skewed across the blacktop. The driver’s door was open, and there was a body hanging out through the door. I saw a woman’s legs in high-heel shoes. Jed leaned into the car and grabbed hold of the body. He dragged the woman’s limp shape out onto the road. She was decomposing.
I reached the car. Jed’s face was wrenched into a fierce, berserker’s expression. His eyes were wild, every fiber in his body singing with adrenalin. He threw himself into the driver’s seat. He was breathing hard, mouth wide open. He stomped his foot on the gas and pumped the pedal. There were keys in the ignition. I stood there, gasping, and held my breath. The engine whirred then died. Jed thumped the wheel with his fist.
Walker was on the passenger side of the car. He pulled the door open and then reached through to unlock the rear door.
“As soon as this thing kicks over, pile in!”
Jed tried the engine again. It whirred and died again. I heard him spit a tirade of abuse at the car, and then a flicker of movement caught the corner of my eye.
I turned my head towards a clapboard house directly opposite the car. It was a worn old building, paint flaking from the walls and the roof tiles stained and moss-covered. There was a big curtained window facing the street. I narrowed my eyes.
The curtains twitched. I stared, feeling a chill of apprehension blow down my spine. My breath jammed in my throat.
My first impulse was to shout a warning, but I crushed down on the urge and forced myself to disentangle my hand from the girl’s. I glanced further along the street, then back to the window. There was a dark shadowed shape behind the curtains – a shape like a head. It was moving – rocking from side to side.
I felt my skin prickle, like a thousand insects were crawling over my body. I turned to the girl and grabbed her shoulders fiercely. “Stay here,” I said in an urgent whisper. “Do not move. Understand?” The girl nodded her head with jerky confusion, but then clawed for my hand. I caught her wrist. “Stay here!” I hissed.
I went around the trunk of the car, and put my hand on Walker’s shoulder. He whirled round, his eyes fierce and frantic.
“The clapboard house,” I said, looking Walker in the eye. “There’s someone – or something – at the front window.” Somehow I managed to keep my voice low and calm, even though my stomach was churning with swollen knots of fear.
Walker was good. I knew the urge for him to turn his head and stare at the window would have been almost impossible to resist, but resist he did. He nodded at me and actually looked away – further along the street.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I said. “There’s something there.”
“Just one?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know – but if we don’t get this car running in the next few seconds, we’re going to be in a world of pain out here in the middle of the road.”
Walker nodded. “Get back around the other side of the car,” he said. “Make sure Millie is covered, and let Harrigan know what’s going on. If they come from that house, I’m going to need you to cover me.”
He ducked his head through the passenger door and spoke briefly to Jed. I heard the engine suddenly whine again – a tired, weary sound – and then more muttered curses.
I got back around the car and prodded Harrigan in the back. He was leaning against the rear door, with my Glock in his hand, covering the scrubby fringe of nature strip. Millie was standing close beside him, dwarfed by his enormous bulk and size.
“They’re in the house on the other side of the road,” I said quietly. “Clapboard house. There is a window at the front. I saw movement there. Might be one – might be a thousand.”
Harrigan didn’t have the training or discipline of Walker. The big man’s head turned like it was on rusty hinges and he gaped at the building, then back at me.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then why aren’t they attacking?”
I shook my head. “Maybe we’re not making enough noise to set them off,” I shrugged. “Maybe the noise isn’t distinct enough.”
Millie made a strangled sound of alarm – a whimper of panic in the back of her throat. I pulled the back door open and held it. Jed was in the front seat, hunched over the wheel. I could see the back of his head, and the tense cords of muscles in his neck. He tried to start the car again, hissing abuse under his breath as the engine whirred then died again.
“Sit on the back seat,” I told Millie. “Right behind Jed. If we get the car started, you will be safe. We will all pile in around you.”
She sat on the back seat, sidesaddle, with her feet hanging out of the car and her bottom perched on the edge of the upholstery. I leaned over the roof of the car, resting my gun arm on the hot sun baked metal with my knees rubbing against the rear tire.
Walker ducked back through the passenger door and I heard the raw tension in his voice as he struggled to keep his words to a whisper.
“Has it got fuel?”
“Half a fuckin’ tank!” I heard Jed hiss.
“Then try it again.”
The engine groaned, and I felt the car rock on its hinges, as though Jed was desperately trying to urge the car into life. Then suddenly the engine coughed – and died.
“Again!” Walker hissed.
The motor spluttered, gasped – and then burst into reluctant life, like an old man coming awake. For brief seconds the beat of the motor was fragile and uncertain, and then quite suddenly it wailed into a full-throated roar of smoke
and noise.
I heard Jed give a ragged cheer of expletive-filled relief. He sawed his foot up and down the gas pedal until the motor was revving high and hard.
“Get in!” Walker screamed.
This wasn’t the plan – but then no plan was ever perfect.
Jed was in the driver’s seat and Walker in the passenger seat. I ran around to the other side of the car and threw myself through the door so Millie was jammed between me and Harrigan’s comforting man-mountain of bulk. The interior of the car smelled like leaked gasoline and rotting food. My door was still swinging open. I reached out for it – at the same instant the front window of the house exploded outwards in a shattering blast of flying glass.
A chair landed on the front lawn, and then the figure of a man hurled itself through the jagged opening. He was hideous. His skin was grey and drawn like the withered skin of an onion. He was a tall shape. He landed on his feet, and came lurching towards me, dragging one of its legs behind it.
“Go! Go! Go!” I shouted. I heaved the car door shut. Walker’s window in the front of the car was down. I saw him jam his gun out through the opening and pull the trigger.
The sound slammed painfully into my eardrums, and the recoil threw Walker’s hand high. The undead lurching shape on the roadside staggered drunkenly, and then toppled into the grass.
I felt my body thrown back hard against the seat and there was a scream of squealing tires. The car filled with the stench of blue smoke and burning rubber and we were catapulted forward, weaving across the blacktop as Jed fought to get control of the wheel.
I heard Millie scream. Her body was twisted, her head wrenched round, staring out through the rear window. The ghoul was getting back to its feet, rising up from the ground but dwindling in the distance as the car surged forward.
“Oh, Jesus no!”
The despairing tone – not the words – made me snap my head around. It had been Jed’s voice, flat and strangled of all life. A voice that sounded dead and desolate.
I stared forward through the windshield, between the broad shapes of Jed and Walker’s bodies. The whole road ahead was filling with dark figures that spilled from the neighboring houses, the rustling keening sound in their throats an undulating hypnotic chant that crackled in the air like electricity.
Die Trying: A Zombie Apocalypse Page 12