The Purple Haze

by Gary Richardson

  “OK, what are we doing?” asked Gaz.

  “What's the best way to get out of England?” asked Martin.

  “Depends on where you want to go,” said Mike. “Wales and Scotland by car but you'd need a boat to get to Ireland or the Isle of Mann.”

  “I think boats are the best bet,” said Marin, “those things are slow and dumb but they're still mobile. Anywhere a car can get, they can get too.”

  “We can get a boat at the docks,” said Yvonne. “Preston docks have boats on them. If we can take one of those boats we can get off the mainland and try and get somewhere.”

  “Do you know how to sail?” asked Gaz.

  “No,” replied Yvonne.

  “Then forget it, we'll just drift into a rock, crash and drown,” said Gaz.

  “No we won't,” said Martin, “not in a motor boat. If we can hot-wire one of them and take it slowly out the harbour, we can easily steer it to where we need to go.”

  “And where is that?” said Gaz.

  “Isle of Mann is the closest habitable island,” said Mike.

  “What makes you think that the Isle of Mann is going to be a haven?” said Gaz. “We don't know how far this madness has spread. It may not be just the mainland of Britain.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, Gaz,” said Martin, “but we can't stay here. If we are attacked by another horde there are too few of us to defend ourselves. We don't have the ammo or the strength.”

  “It's worth the risk,” said Yvonne, “at least the Isle of Mann isn't as populated.”

  “But it's still populated!” said Gaz.

  “Well what do you want us to then, Gaz?!” Martin shouted at him, “sit around here and wait to be torn apart or starve to death? Stop being such an idiot and realise that we either die here for definite, or risk a boat over there to hope for a chance of surviving.”

  Gaz didn't answer at first, but then he spoke. “Look, I know you're right, I'm sorry. I just don't know how much more of this I can cope with.”

  “I'm not looking for apologies, but you are going to have to realise this is it now,” said Martin. “Nothing will be normal here ever again. All we are is prey, and they are the hunters.”

  Gaz breathed a huge sigh and nodded his head. “OK, let's go to the Isle of Mann.”

  “It's about seven miles to the docks from here,” said Mike. “That's a hell of a walk.”

  Martin looked at his watch. “It's nearly midday, so we'll eat here and then set off. We'll start looking for shelter for the night if we need it along the way.”

  “Sounds good,” said Mike.

  The group sat around the table and ate some food. For the thirty minutes they sat there, things seemed good. Apart from the odd noise that caused them to sit bolt upright, they sat talking of old times and told uplifting stories. Yvonne talked about her parents, Mike told of how he looked after the kids outside the primary school and Gaz made them laugh with stories about the drunken acts of mischief he and his university friends got up to. After they had eaten they all felt better about things. They stood up and checked all their weapons for ammo and made sure they were ready for the walk ahead.

  They left by the front door and looked around. The road was clear of anything moving. “Which way is best, Mike?” asked Martin.

  “Right,” Mike replied, and the survivors turned to walk down the road.

  It was at this point that Gaz noticed something. “Shit,” he said out loud.

  Martin looked round, alert. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Look,” Gaz said, pointing at the car park across the road.

  There, Martin spotted it, a familiar looking white van that he himself was in the back of with five other men just a few days ago. “Bloody hell,” he said, and set off walking quickly towards it. The rest of the group followed.

  “What is it?” asked Mike.

  “It's our van,” said Gaz.

  The group moved quicker, Martin almost breaking into a jog as he got closer. He reached the van and without even thinking about it first, he opened the driver side door, and then jumped back at what he saw. The rest of the group looked, and Gaz and Martin instantly recognised Pete, now a creature, sat there still strapped to the seat by his seatbelt. His face was covered with the hallmarks of the disease, boils and blisters weeping with puss and blood. He saw the survivors and reached out for them, but fell forward due to the seatbelt, and was left suspended upside down half in and half out of the van. “Son of a bitch, you got what you deserved,” Gaz said to him.

  “Yeah,” said Martin, “you could say that.” Martin looked for a second then noticed the key in the ignition. The key was in the off position. “I've got an idea,” he said, and took Yvonne's pistol off her, aimed, and shot Pete straight through his forehead. The exit wound caused bits of brain and skull to decorate the bottom of the van, and the now lifeless corpse just hung there, as still as a mannequin.

  “What are you doing?” said Yvonne, sounding alarmed. “Those things will have heard that!”

  “Won't matter,” Martin replied handing her gun back to her. “Gaz, Mike, give me a hand.”

  The three men moved forward. Martin held his breath and reached over the putrid corpse of his ex-driver and released the seat belt. He grabbed hold of a clean piece of cloth on Pete's boiler suit.

  “Help me get him out,” Martin said, and Mike and Gaz did as he did, grabbing the cleanest parts of the boiler suit they could find. They pulled the body from the van and left it slumped on the ground. Martin climbed into the driver’s seat. “Please work,” he said under his breath. He turned the key and van engine turned over, but nothing happened. Martin felt gutted and looked at the rest of the survivors.

  “Well don't stop,” Gaz said, “try it again.”

  Martin tried again and this time the engine started. “Yes!” he shouted out loud.

  Gaz laughed in excitement and Mike and Yvonne smiled.

  “Seven miles? No problem!” Martin said with elation.

  Yvonne ran round to the passenger side like a giddy school girl and climbed in. Gaz and Mike got into the back of the van and Gaz checked what stuff was left. “We have a load of ammo back here!” he said.

  Mike opened a bag and saw about six grenades in it. “What the hell would you use these for?” he said, picking one up and showing it to Gaz.

  “You never know,” answered Gaz.

  “Is everybody ready?” Martin asked. The group all responded with nods. “Let's get moving then,” Martin said, and put the van into first. They drove away from the café and headed down the road. They all hoped it was a road to an escape.

  Martin drove the van at a steady pace. He had been expecting to have to walk the seven miles to the docks, but now they had the van it was going to take far less time. They had tried the stereo in the van, and the only thing they heard was static. Every station on both FM and medium wave fed back the exact same white noise. While Martin was driving, Mike and Gaz were sat in the back of the van checking the police radios they had, hoping for any kind of proof that there was someone alive out there. Maybe they could help them if they found them, they thought, and maybe they could build up their numbers again, but they got as much of a response as Martin got from the stereo.

  They had made it about three miles by this point, and so far it had been quite easy going. There had been a few groups of creatures gathered here and there, but whilst driving they had absolutely nothing to worry about with regards to them. They followed the signs for Preston, but the closer to the city they got, the denser the debris and stationary cars got. Not only that, but they found the volumes of creatures also started to increase. The main roads were becoming more and more unsafe as they went, so they had to start using the side streets and back roads to find a route around the chaos. Despite these setbacks they pressed forward and their spirits remained high. As they came to a junction, they realised they were heading into a bottle neck. They turned off the road as soon they were able and found themsel
ves in a residential area. Creatures lingered in the streets and stumbled in and out of open doorways. Martin stopped the van and looked ahead. The creatures didn't seem to notice them. A few looked up at the sight of the new white object at the end of road, maybe curious about the noise of the engine, but they gave little more than a glance in terms of attention.

  Mike looked out the window. “Well, we either plough through them, or we find a way round somehow.”

  “Just plough through them, then,” said Gaz.

  “I would, but I might wreck the van if I hit enough of them,” Martin replied.

  “Can we get around these streets to get the docks?” asked Yvonne.

  “It's possible, but it'd be the long way round,” said Mike. “As long as we ran into no further problems, we'd be looking at an extra mile or two to drive.”

  “Right, we'll do that then,” Martin said, and he put the van into reverse and began to back up. He came to a turn off that looked clear, slid the gear box into first and set off down the side road.

  The streets they took seemed like a maze. As they went they saw many things. Not just creatures, but the number of bodies of those the creatures had killed also increased. They also saw packs of dogs that had changed in the fog, sniffing the ground and licking at the remains of victims fallen to the creatures. The group found these the things to be the most frightening after they witnessed the death of Craig at the hands of them. How difficult it was to take them on, even with eight members in the group, also hung in the forefront of their minds. Mike continued to guide Martin, and they continued through the maze of terrace houses, edging closer and closer to their destination. After what seemed like an age they emerged from the terraces and back onto a main road. Martin stopped the van again to survey the route ahead. It was littered with cars and creatures, and tall buildings flanked the road on either side. He could just about make out a path he could take but it would be a tight fit with the van, and it would be impossible to avoid the creatures standing in the way. If too many went down under the van, the axles could be damaged, or the van would just simply not make it over them if they piled up high enough. “Mike, is there a way round?” Martin asked.

  “No, this is it,” Mike told him.

  Martin sighed hard. “Damn!” Martin thought about what to do for a second. If there was no other way through, they would have to double back and find some way through on foot. “How far to the docks?” he asked Mike.

  “About a mile,” said Mike

  Martin knew they couldn't make that on foot, not with that many of those things out there. “Sod it,” he said, and slammed the van into first gear. He looked around at the three people with him. “Hold onto something.”

  Martin stepped on the accelerator and let off the clutch, the van setting off with a jolt at first, then picking up speed. He made the change to second, then third. He lined the van up with the biggest gap he could see and put in fourth. Dozens of creatures were in the gap. They all looked up at the noise of the engine and came towards them. “Hang on!” Martin shouted and floored the accelerator.

  The van ploughed into the creatures and knocked them out the way like a bowling ball would skittles in a ten pin alley. He got the van through the gap and kept going, weaving in and out of the stationary cars and hitting any creature that got in the way. The other people in the car held on for their lives, especially Mike and Gaz who had no means of securing themselves in the back. Forwards the van went, weaving still, jolting as it hit more and more of the creatures. Sounding like a deranged person, Martin began laughing as he saw the creatures’ faces bouncing off the wind screen, distorted and hideous, leaving blood and puss marks across it as they did. He turned on the wind screen wipers which smeared the deposits all over the screen in big pink and red streak marks. His visibility was reduced, but this didn't stop him. He drove onward, using his white machine of war to kill anything in his path. He felt invincible. Nothing could stop them.

  In the back of the van, Gaz and Mike were holding onto the frame of the van to stop themselves from being thrown side to side by the motion of the van. Gaz's attention was taken off the madness in front went he realised he might throw up due to the motion of the van. Mixed with the sight of the wipers streaking blood and puss across the wind screen, he was amazed he hadn't already. He concentrated on his breathing, and after a couple of minutes, to his relief, the motion stopped and the way seemed to be smoother again. He looked ahead and saw the streaks clearing, and behind them he saw clearer roads.

  Martin let out a victory cheer. He saw the street signs and they said they were one mile away from the docks. “One mile!” he shouted out, and looked around at the faces of his passengers. None of them looked happy, and Gaz looked pale. “What's wrong with you?” he asked, but he only got dirty looks in reply.

  The van continued onwards. The exterior of the van definitely looked worse for wear. There were bumps and dents all over the bumper and it was covered in blood and all sorts of chunks of rotting flesh. Still, forwards it went, edging steadily towards their goal. Although the last half a mile of driving through walls of walking dead and cars had left their feelings of elation slightly soured, the survivors were beginning to imagine what things would be like if the escaped from all this horror. They hoped that they would be able to live a life where they could sleep all night without fear of attack, where they could walk down a street and not be worried about unseen attackers wanting to feed on their flesh. It seemed impossible, but that dream was what kept them going, what had driven them to carry on and risk heading for the docks, not knowing whether they would make it and what was waiting for them if they did.

  The van past under a bridge and left the tall buildings behind. They came to a sign post marked ‘Riversway Docklands’ directing them down a slip road and Marin made the turn. They were heading back into a residential area, but they weren't bothered any more.

  “We're nearly there,” said Mike, “only a few more minutes.” The van crossed a roundabout and came to a curve in the road.

  Suddenly, the air in the van changed. There was a loud bang and all of a sudden Martin couldn't control the van. The steering wasn't responding to his directions and there was a very loud and uncomfortable vibration. The occupants of the van wouldn't know it, but they had driven over a sharp strip of metal, causing both the near side tyres to blow out.

  “What the hell’s happening?” Gaz was shouting. The next thing he knew he was suspended in mid-air. Martin had lost all control of the van and it skidded round ninety degrees. The inertia tried to carry the van forward, but the resistance of the two good tyres sent the van into a roll. Gaz remembered a feeling of weightlessness, followed suddenly by a sensation of falling, and a loud crashing noise. He was barely able to make out Mike being thrown around with him. He saw Martin and Yvonne, strapped into the front seats with their arms flailing like rag dolls. As the van stopped, he hit his head, and then he blacked out.

  Chapter 13

  He wasn't sure how long he had been out, but when Martin awoke, it was getting dark outside. He looked around himself and saw the mess he was in. The van had crumpled in and landed on its roof. Stuff was everywhere, loose bullets here and there, and in the roll he'd been knocked free of his seatbelt. It was difficult for him to try and move himself because he couldn't put his hands down anywhere due the amount of glass all around him. His whole body hurt, and he tried each of his limbs in turn. Both legs moved, a good sign he told himself. His arms moved but were extremely tender, and all his fingers could be moved freely. “Bruising,” he told himself, “just bruising”. He tried to take a deep breath but it caught in his nose. He wiped his hand across it and felt the sticky, drying blood that was crusting around his top lip.

  He looked for the other three members of his party. He saw Yvonne, led on her side next to him on the roof. He watched her body to see if it moved, and saw the rising and falling of her chest. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was alive. He looked around for Mike and Gaz. H
e spotted Mike in the back. He looked in bad way. Blood covered his face and hands, and he was slumped in what could only be described as a heap on the upturned roof. Martin couldn't make out if he was breathing or not. He watched and noticed a small amount of movement in his body, and was glad to see he was alive. He looked around but couldn't see Gaz anywhere. The back of the van had opened up when the doors came unhinged in the accident. Martin wondered if Gaz had walked from the vehicle, was thrown form it, or worse, dragged, the creatures setting on him and leaving the rest of them. Urgency took over him, and he grimaced at the pain of having to put weight on his hands with all the glass under him. He looked around for his rifle, and found it in battered state. The barrel had bent under the weight of the van crushing onto it. It was useless now.

  He got to his feet the best he could and crouched next to Yvonne. He shook her arm but got no response. She had a large cut on her head, the blood had slightly pooled under her hair, leaving it all matted and sticky, but the blood had coagulated and luckily the cut was no longer bleeding. Her hands were scratched too, but other than that she looked in good shape. Martin patted her cheek and called her name. She slowly moaned and stirred. She opened her eyes and looked at Martin. “Where are we?” she said, almost in a dreamlike state.

  “In trouble,” Martin said quietly, “we need to get out of here. Can you move?”

  “I think so,” she answered, and slowly sat up. As she moved her body ached, and her head was killing her. She felt her head where the cut was and let out a little cry of pain. “What the hell happened?”

  “The van rolled for some reason. It was a tyre blow out, I think.” Martin looked around at Mike, who was still slumped over. “Can you move your legs and arms?” he asked Yvonne.

  Yvonne checked that she could, and apart from the aches and pains that came with it, found she had problems doing so. She got to her feet and crouched like Martin. She looked around and saw Mike. “Mike?” she blurted out.