by Wood, Kolin
Tanner’s eyes dropped to the floor. She could see his cogs whirring. After a few moments of silence, he dipped his head and sighed.
Juliana felt hope rise like a warm wave in her stomach. She smiled and reached out, setting a finger under his heavily stubbled chin and tilting his face up to hers. “It’s the right thing to do; I promise.”
He sighed. “You said yourself that there were hundreds of them. How in the hell are we supposed to fight that?”
Juliana shrugged. “I said I saw a hundred of them run out of that place.”
Tanner eyed her, doubtfully. “And?”
“And… maybe that means that there are none left inside.”
“Maybe?”
Tanner coughed into his shoulder in an attempt to dull the sound. Juliana looked up and down the road and then eyed him warily.
“I don’t think you should come with me, Tanner.”
Tanner’s mouth dropped open.
Juliana continued. “You aren’t well. Together, we’ll never make it back in time. Go find your friend, he’ll help you. Warn them. Tell the others what’s coming so that they can prepare.”
“No way,” Tanner said; his stubbornness resolute. “I’m not leaving you to go back over there alone with those things. You have no idea what you are dealing with, or even if that girl is still alive! C’mon, Juliana; think about it. The risk isn’t worth it. It’s suicide.”
But Juliana would not be persuaded. Her mind was made up. “I’m going, Tanner. There’s nothing that you can say to stop me.”
Tanner looked on despondently. Breathing deeply through his nose and closing his eyes, he swallowed his final words and nodded in agreement.
“Then take this,” he said, handing her the double barrelled shotgun.
***
The smouldering husk of the building cast a dim glow on the sky as Juliana skirted her way back through the weaving grass toward the Church of Ruin. Without Tanner at her side, she was able to move quickly and quietly, cutting back along the same trail of crumpled foliage. With his arm in tatters and fatigue from the injury setting in, she had noticed that his usually upright and confident gait had softened somewhat at the edges, leaving his movements painful and his steps heavy. It was unsurprising, given the circumstances. They had walked for miles with only meagre rations to fuel them. When all of this was over, he would need time to rest properly, to heal on the inside and on the out. They both would. Hopefully, they would be able do it from the safe confines of the Refuge—should the evening play out as she hoped. Only time would tell.
From the relative safety of a gorse bush, she watched the dying fire of the pavilion, checking for any signs that the things might have been attracted to the light. Confident that she was not being watched, Juliana approached the burning wreckage. Charcoal hissed and popped, spraying red embers like fireflies up into the night sky. The flames burned the sensitive skin on her cheeks. Underneath the ash and soot, in the seared grass and muddiness of the freshly-disturbed pond, Juliana was sure that she could smell something else: the unmistakable stench of cooking flesh.
Her brain reminded her of her hunger, and a fresh heave of nausea churned her guts. Sickened, Juliana moved until the cold wind embraced her face and cast chilly fingers down her spine.
Soon she had crossed over the park, and felt a wash of relief as the canopy of the trees overhead granted her a full blanket of obscurity once more. She pushed on faster, her footsteps lighter now and free of the tangles of grass and weeds, until her palms touched down on the cold, stone brick of the mossy wall.
With her heart beating like a broken clock, Juliana stopped to ready herself for what was to come. Somewhere beyond the wall lay the Church of Ruin, bodies, like bone wind chimes, hanging from its windows. She’d seen with her own eyes the evil that had spilled out from within its walls; that look in the tall man’s eyes, his knowing smile. What manner of depravity was taking place in there?
Momentarily she considered climbing another tree to check the courtyard again, but the deep ache in her shoulders quickly detracted her from the idea. Whatever she was about to face, she would need her strength.
With a final breath of damp and earthy, moss-tinged air, Juliana pushed away from the wall and ran in the direction of the gate, the girl’s screams still ringing in her ears.
Chapter 23
The streets all looked the same in the dark. Somewhere above, the moon sat hidden behind a thick slew of swirling cloud. Tanner’s head pulsed. His legs felt heavy. Each step sent a bolt of pain shooting up his spine and into the back of his skull. He had made the decision to keep away from the main streets, hoping to avoid any confrontation before he reached the hotel. He just needed to reach the supplies—sort himself out and get back in the game.
A gritty wind pushed down the alley, forcing Tanner to shield his eyes. Occasional, shouts and screams carried like distorted organ notes on the electric currents of air, sounds snatched in passing, there one minute, gone the next. Ahead of him, the buckled frames of a dozen or so shopping trolleys blocked his route and he grunted with dissatisfaction as he clambered awkwardly over them. The metal felt slick and treacherous under his boots, and more than once he slipped in agony.
Once over, he looked up and caught sight of the huge shopping mall, and its presence encouraged him; he’d managed to travel half way back without seeing a single one of the things. With an extra drive in his step, Tanner picked his way through the last remaining articles of scrap and rotting garbage.
Aside from the physical pain, each step carried with it a mounting feeling of dread. How could he have been so stupid as to let Juliana go back alone? The tall man, Tidus, had released a frenzied army of cannibals into the city. What had turned them that way? The woman from the cafe had said ‘the man is evil’, and foolishly, they hadn’t taken much notice. But then again, knowing Juliana as he did now, there would have been very little that he could have done to change her mind anyway. She was a damaged woman, haunted by the spectres of her past, on a mission to save as many people from the dying world as she could. Nobody would be able to change her. And deep down, he was not sure that he would want them too, either.
A wrong-footed step and Tanner slipped, almost falling down. Righting himself, he tried to move his crippled arm but only succeeded in sending ribbons of searing pain flashing down to his elbow.
Juliana no longer considered him man enough to even help. She’d rather go it alone. Maybe she was right.
At the end of the alleyway, Tanner glanced first one way and then the other before stepping out onto the quiet street. He ducked for cover beside a stripped-out food truck with no wheels, and looked up at the imposing shape of the shopping mall before him. The building was clad in dented, dirty grey panelling and part of the roof had collapsed in. Tall pillars of corroded steel framed the black entrance on either side. Tanner rubbed his eyes with his sleeve and tried to look past the shadows, sure that he could see something moving inside.
A crash to the floor on his left, and Tanner turned just in time to see a dark shape skirt around the wreckage of an overturned car. It streaked towards him, all yellow skin and snapping teeth, unbelievably quick, the nearly-silent pattering of its bare feet all but hidden by the broken howl of the gusty wind. Dirty, muscular arms strained through a tattered, blue shirt, hinting at its power as fingers dripping with black blood reached for him.
With the shotgun in one hand and his useless arm still strapped across his chest, it was all Tanner could do to twist and step sideways, narrowly avoiding the attack as the thing, unable to change its momentum, slammed into the van with a loud bang. The side buckled inward, acting as a spring which propelled it backward across the cracked tarmac. Confused, it kicked and bucked, using violent movements, eventually finding purchase with its legs and righting itself. Red eyes turned on him. As they found their target, the thing opened its mouth and let out a horrific scream.
But before it could launch another attack, Tanner took his chance.
He stepped forward and swung the rifle, clubbing down hard with the heavy wooden stock into the middle of its shaved head. A damp squelch accompanied the sharp cracking of bone, as skull gave way to brain matter. The long, vein-covered neck buckled, sending its chin down into its sternum. The red eyes sprung wide open, staring into the pit of oblivion as it shuddered and collapsed in a bloody heap at Tanner’s splattered boots.
Tanner spat just as another terrible scream echoed against the cold, dead buildings surrounding him. Running on adrenaline now, he dropped down, his back pressed hard against the dented panel, and held his breath.
A snuffling sound like a pig emanated from the underside of the van, moving slowly from the front to the back. Unable to tell how many of them there were, Tanner clasped the bloody stock and slipped a finger into the guard. The single shot rifle would not deal the same damage as the twelve bore, but it might even up the odds. More pattering of bare feet on tarmac sounded from somewhere nearby before slowly moving away.
Tanner let out a pent up breath with relief and shut his eyes as his headache crashed in once more. For all he knew, there could be hundreds more skulking around in the dark and hiding in the shadows. The rifle, which he had swapped with Juliana, only had a few rounds left. He still had his knife, a small, double-sided woodcraft blade, and he was sure that he would be able to take a few of them down with it, should he have to. But only if he managed to keep to his feet—and right then, that was proving more difficult than he had hoped.
The square still lay some distance away, somewhere out beyond the shopping mall, back through the pleasant side streets where, only that morning, he and Juliana had allowed themselves to be fooled that the world had turned a corner. If he thought real hard, he could almost ignore the acidic tang of copper which now filled his nostrils and remember the fresh aroma of baking bread. Already, the memory seemed distant.
Puffing breaths through his cheeks to oxygenate his blood, Tanner stood and took three unsteady steps around the van. The windshield lay smashed on the floor and the wind rushed through, carrying the faint whiff of oil with it. Before him, the road stretched on into the night, straight and mostly clear. In the distance, fires flickered in the windows of the buildings, marking his way like old-fashioned gas lighting. Beyond that, a gentle orange glow lit up the sky and kissed the bottoms of the clouds. Looking at it now, the square appeared close, but it was still a million miles away in his current condition. He was not sure that his body would carry him that far. Behind him, the alleyway offered sanctity from the street. Momentarily, he considered going back, just to rest for a few minutes and catch his breath. But he quickly discarded the idea. He had to try to warn the others. He’d made a promise. If he moved now, there was still time to make a difference.
With his eyes focused on the gaping mouth of the shopping complex, Tanner crouched down as low as his burning thighs would allow and headed in a lumbering, hunkered run over to one side of the dark street. Once there, he stopped inside a ruined doorway, just enough so that his body was hidden from the road, and listened. The wind whistled broken songs through the smashed windows and tired, wooden beams creaked in harmony, but otherwise, the night lay as dead as the grave. Exhausted and with his face burning up, he set off again, his feet moving like twin pistons, drilling his head with their consistent rhythm.
As the burning lights at the end of the street drew closer, Tanner was able to make out the profile of somebody moving in one of the windows and saw a flash of blonde hair. Yet still the streets lay disarmingly quiet and empty around him.
Light from above spilled out from a dozen windows, forming dancing shapes on the pavement that played with his eyes. Every step felt like it might be his last. Looking around, Tanner recognised the spot where he now stood as the same cafe from before. The tables and chairs had been safely stacked inside, but the brightly coloured doors and murals were unmistakable.
He paused at the window, each hot breath misting the glass. His shoulder felt on fire and fresh blood glistened through the thick fabric of his shirt. He felt delirious and giddy, dangerously lightheaded.
Tanner looked at the boarded door and considered knocking, but quickly brushed away the idea. As long as they remained inside, the people were safe; for now at least; safer than the people still sat up in the square anyway. He had to get there, had to warn them. Maybe Charlie would still be up, and would help him get right again. With Charlie at his side, the old team could handle anything that was thrown at them; they’d done so before.
Something caught his eye in the reflection of the glass and Tanner glanced back to see another of the things, lurching at speed down the centre of the road toward him. From the shadows behind it followed another two and then two more. The same terrible screams from before accompanied the pack.
His stomach heaved as Tanner pushed against the glass and took off again, no longer caring of the noise as his tired boots slapped loudly against the cobbled street.
A couple, arm in arm and tottering with the obvious effects of inebriation, broke cover from a side street and Tanner twisted his body awkwardly to avoid clattering into them. The young man, his bright face suddenly darkened, raised a fist to protest but his frustration was short lived as one of the hunters slammed full-throttle into him from the side, sending his eyes rolling back in his head. The girl, who’d fallen to her knees, opened her mouth to scream. Another of the things hit her like a professional rugby player, grinding her face along the stones under the flying weight of its heavy body.
Tanner, who had somehow managed to stay on his feet, jerked away from the scene. There was nothing that he could do for them. From behind him, the guttural cry of the boy rang out just as Tanner turned the corner.
Ahead of him, the bright lights of the square shone like the celestial gates. Several shadows moved slowly and uncaring in the hazy glow; there were still a few people milling about. Music, not the lairy chorus of an evening in full swing but more the drunken bumblings of a lone musician on his way to bed, found its way to him.
With nothing left in the tank, Tanner dipped his head and sprinted for all he was worth.
Chapter 24
The steps, streaked with black, had been slippery and hazardous to climb. The air at the top hung thick with the stench of vomit. It emanated like dying breath from the broken, once-barricaded doors of the Church of Ruin before being snatched up and driven away by the shrieking wind. The thick, army-style coat provided only temporary relief from the sickly aroma as Juliana buried the bottom of her face into the stiff, fur-lined collar.
The door, a thick, wooded garden gate bearing a large steel knocker, rocked gently on its hinges. Inside and beyond, the blackness lay complete and oppressive, as if she was entering a morgue or an old hospital rather than a battlement. Evil had reigned here; something dark, primitive, and sickly.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms and her guts squeezed tightly around her bladder.
Maybe, I’m too late, she thought as doubts crept in and her eyes strained to see past the first layer of shadow. Maybe Tanner was right.
But the same nagging doubt from before, the voice that weighed down so heavily upon her, kept her from turning around.
You’ve already abandoned them, once. Anabelle, Sarah—you owe it to them to go inside.
Juliana closed her eyes and swallowed hard. The voices were right. Her speech to Tanner had been from the heart. Whatever the outcome, this had to be her final stand. Her fingers ached from clenching the hunting knife as Juliana drew in a tainted breath and stepped through the door.
Immediately, the darkness closed in, embracing her into its black bosom. Her boots crunched through grit and sand on the rough floor. The smell of vomit still evident, its intensity was dulled somewhat by the heavy, damp reek of the building site with its cement and bricks, unsealed concrete, and rusted metal pipework. The roof sat so high that she could only just make out the dull, brown and corroded steel girders above her.
She stepped into a short corridor
. It led away from the reception room and felt strangely smooth underfoot, as if works had been started to level it off for the marble or whatever other luxurious material had been planned to reflect the building’s opulence. Dark openings on either side of her gave way to deep and dangerous lift shafts, the heights and depths of which were held secret by the guarding shadows. On one side, a doorway offered up a staircase of rough, concrete steps which stretched up the side of the building like a bent, necrotic spine. Stepping through the door, the smell of death and sickness was thick enough to make her eyes water, and she turned back, keen to first check out the rest of the ground floor.
Juliana pushed on farther into the belly of the beast. She trod carefully, her eyes twitching like a hunting lioness. At the end of the small corridor, the space opened up and stretched grandly in either direction. It was as if the floors above had yet to be put in, such was the vastness of the space. The building was a shell. Huge gaps where windows should have been allowed a limited amount of light inside, turning the air over with fresh, welcome gusts that moved her hair and made the space feel alive with energy.
In the centre of the room, many pieces of cardboard lay scattered in a messy mosaic on the floor. Every now and then, the wind would catch an edge and lift one up, skittering it into the shadows at the sides of the room. A grotty-looking chair sat amidst the fluttering chaos, and small nubs—which she assumed to be the melted stumps of candles—sat like markers, neatly arranged in a demonic circle around it.
This must have been some sort of meeting point or assembly room, she thought, spotting a large, dark shape and cautiously moving toward it.
As she drew closer, the shape’s identity became clear. It was a stainless steel counter, the type once used in a commercial kitchen. Above it sat a large bay window, too high for her to see anything but the tempestuous undercarriage of the swirling, grey clouds outside. Several instruments sat on the countertop. A heavy-looking cleaver and a dirty looking bow-saw caught her eye.