When There's No More Room in Hell 2

by Luke Duffy

  He peered down at the ground. To John, they were unrecognisable as having once been human beings. Their skin was dark, almost black, and blistered as though they had been over baked in an oven. Their limbs seemed longer than was normal for a person, and their hands looked more like talons. Their heads were bare and only a thin layer of crusted dried flesh clung to their scalps with the odd strand of hair floating above them.

  He could only tell the sex of one of them and that was only because it was wearing what was left of a man's business suit. The jacket was gone and the shirt was smeared with numerous stains, including what he presumed was blood. The dark patches on the shoulders and back spread out across the material and then blended into the filth that covered the rest of the garment.

  He guessed that one of them could have been a woman once, due to its smaller build, but with decay and grime he could not be sure. It may have been an adolescent male. Nevertheless, they were all monsters as far as he was concerned, demons.

  Their smell drifted up to him. Sickly and sweet, like diarrhoea mixed with rotten food, John thought. He was surprised at how used to the smell he had become. At the beginning, he had struggled to keep down the contents of his stomach when he was close to them. Now, it was nothing more than an extremely unpleasant odour that could be wafted away.

  He watched the hordes of flies that swarmed around them. The dead never seemed to pay them any attention, even when they landed on their faces and in their eyes. He considered how living people would be swatting away for dear life if flies were constantly buzzing them, yet the dead never seemed affected by them.

  The maggots, too; the four corpses below were infested with them. Even from ten feet up in the tree, John could see the light patches of squirming lava that colonised the festering skin and the open wounds of each of the walking cadavers. They were slowly being eaten to nothing.

  John was confused. He knew full well that by now, under normal circumstances, a dead body that had been left in the open and exposed to weather conditions and wildlife for a couple of months would be nothing more than a skeleton. These, however, were intact with enough flesh, sinew, muscle and cartilage to keep them mobile. Their eyes could still see, their ears could still hear and they were far from being ready to drop.

  Dead bodies do not normally walk about. Well at least that used to be the case, John thought to himself, but now they do not rot as they should either.

  The ghouls below continued to circle the tree. They hovered in the area around the base, as though expecting the two men above to suddenly give up and climb down to their waiting arms. They grunted and groaned as they shuffled through the rustling leaves, endlessly watching the tree.

  John looked away, a shudder running down his spine. "Carl," he whispered, "Carl."

  Lying on his back, still sprawled on the thick branch, Carl rolled his head towards John. "What?" He asked without even opening his eyes.

  "How long do you think we need to stay up here?"

  Carl looked down at the four creatures below them. They had not lost interest and he knew they would not, not as long as they were both in clear sight.

  "I don't know. I think we're in for the long haul by the looks of things."

  One of the dead below them suddenly let out a high-pitched wail and attacked the trunk of the tree again. It clawed and kicked at the bark, shredding its fingers to the bone in an attempt to scale the obstacle. It did not seem to notice that it had worn the flesh from its fingers and John began to feel despair as he watched the thing continually assault the tree. He knew it would never give up. It would attack and attack until either it made it to the top, or there was nothing left of it but a bloodied rotten pulp.

  "We can't stay here forever, Carl. It'll be getting dark soon. I'm dehydrated and my throat is threatening to close up."

  "Me too, mate, but I'm not going down there to get you a glass of water. Get it yourself." He turned to John and grinned. The frothy white spittle at the corners of his mouth told John that he was suffering just as much as he was.

  It had been a hot day. The hottest that John had witnessed for a while. "Just our luck, isn't it? We have a heatwave and get stuck in a tree."

  "I know," Carl agreed. "We should've brought a barbeque and beer."

  "Try the radio again."

  Carl lifted the radio in his hand and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Steve, anyone, it's Carl. You hear me?" He waited a moment. "Anyone, can you hear me? It's Carl and John. We're stuck in a tree in the south west."

  Nothing but a hiss came over the speaker in reply.

  John hunched his shoulders. "It’s fucked, isn't it?"

  Carl nodded, "Looks that way. We've heard nothing from anyone so either they're all dead, or the radio is broken."

  They had been out the whole day. It had turned into a fine summer's day and the heat had increased throughout the afternoon. Neither of them carried any supplies. They did not expect to need them. Now they both suffered and the thirst they felt was threatening to drive them mad. Their tongues felt like sandpaper and the insides of their mouths were sticky. Their throats were raw and tender and both had developed headaches and bordered on the verge of heat exhaustion.

  The fact that they had had to sprint for hundreds of metres, flat out, had added to their predicament. They had lost vital fluids through sweat and had nothing to replace them.

  John knew that if their core temperature continued to rise, then they would soon be in serious trouble. From the general heat of the day and then the exertion of sprinting for their lives, fear and lying in a tree for hours in the high heat of the afternoon, and with no water intake to replenish the fluids they sweated out, it would not be long before they both lost the ability to sweat anymore. Then they would be in a whole world of hurt. They would become incapacitated within an hour and without water, they would die.

  "We're going to have to try for it at some point, Carl. We both know that they're not going to go away. I already have the shakes and my head is pounding. We wait much longer and we won't be able to even think about moving anyway."

  "I know, mate. I just don't want to do it yet. Let's wait a little longer. The others probably know that we're missing by now and are probably looking for us."

  John sat up on his perch, a frown creased across his face as he eyed Carl beside him.

  "What and you want to just sit here and wait for them to stumble across us, what if they did? They could end up being eaten by those ugly bastards down there."

  He pointed to the foot of the tree. The one that they guessed to have once been a woman clambered at the base, reaching into thin air in an attempt to close the distance between her and the living flesh she so desperately wanted.

  "No, I don't mean that. I mean, it would be better for us to at least hear a car or voices somewhere close by. At least, then we have a direction to head for. As it stands at the moment," Carl looked around them and scanned the woods, "we've nowhere to go. We wouldn't make it as far as the house if we made a run for it. You said yourself that you're in shit state. So am I."

  John bit his lip and fiddled with a piece of the tree bark between his fingers. "Yeah, you're right. Well, if we hear anyone, then we have to move quickly. I mean, out the tree and making like startled gazelles."

  Carl nodded, "Yeah, well at least I'll be okay."

  John raised an eyebrow, "How's that?"

  Carl grinned, "Because I'm faster than you are."

  Both men burst out in laughter. Even though their throats hurt and it felt as though they were swallowing broken glass, it did them good to laugh. It was a release of stress and even with the creatures below them working themselves into a state of frenzy as they attacked the tree en-masse, Carl and John laughed even harder.

  The hours passed and they remained in the tree. They tried to rest and conserve their energy hoping that someone would be out looking for them. The dead continued to stalk them below. Moaning, wailing and now and then attacking the tree, snarling and raking at the bark with th
eir fleshless hands, leaving long smears of blackened congealed blood and greasy skin, including fingernails.

  The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon and there was still no sign of a rescue. John was becoming more anxious by the minute but he tried hard not to show it. Not because he wanted to appear macho to his friend, but because he did not want to pressure Carl into making a half-cocked decision and moving before they were ready.

  Silently, they both agreed that they needed to move before it was fully dark.

  "What do you reckon then, John?"

  "Well we either die from dehydration, get eaten by those dead fucks as we make a run for it, or we die of hypothermia during the night." He nodded toward the distance. "Those dark clouds over there look ready to burst and they're coming this way."

  Carl looked at the weather front that approached. "Right, bollocks to it, we're going to have to try for it."

  John sat upright and glanced down at the dead that circled the tree below, and then back at his tree mate.

  "What do we do then?"

  Carl hummed to himself, as though flicking through a catalogue of ideas in his head. He looked at John, a wry smile creasing his lips. "I'll climb out along that branch," he nodded at the thick piece of the tree that John sat upon, "and you keep them occupied here. Once I am out as far as I can go, Ill drop down and get them to follow me. Then, you get yourself down and leg it for the house."

  John was shaking his head slowly. "I can't let you do that, mate. I don't need babysitting and it's too much of a risk. You can't handle them all on your own."

  Carl snorted. "Who said anything about me handling them? I'm out of the tree and running for my life, mate. I've no intention of taking them on, just trying to give you a headstart and I'll soon be on your heels and past you."

  John nodded, understanding that it made sense for him to have a running start.

  Carl placed a hand on his shoulder, a serious and solemn expression on his face. "Don't wait for me, John. As soon as you're on the ground, head for the mansion and don't stop."

  Carl began to shimmy out along the branch, slowly and carefully placing his hands, knees and feet. The tree creaked beneath him as his weight spread along the limb. It began to dip slightly, and even the smallest movement felt like it would throw him from the tree. Sweat poured from his forehead and into his eyes, despite the cool breeze that blew in from the open fields.

  He crawled further and the branch seemed to bow substantially toward the ground below him. He stopped. Holding his breath and screwing his eyes shut, he waited for the movement of the branch to subside before continuing. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth and his throat tightened and became drier as he struggled to swallow.

  John was leaning over from the junction of the large branches, waving his arms and taunting the lurking dead below him in an attempt to keep them distracted. He clapped his hands and threw insults at them as they lunged for him, snarling and flailing their arms into thin air. He gripped the thick branch tighter with his legs as he began smacking his hands against the bark of the tree.

  "Come on you dumb shits. Come on, I'm here and waiting," he mocked as the creatures below him doubled their efforts to reach him.

  They were in a rage, colliding with each other and slamming against the tree, then falling to the floor as they fought to grasp the warm fleshy hands that dangled just inches above their heads.

  None of them noticed as Carl crept along the branch away from them. He was close to the point where he had decided he would drop down. By now, he was no more than six feet from the ground, the weight of his bulk on the thinning branch causing it to dip toward the ground in a long arc.

  John continued his insults and jeers, whipping them up to a rage that he had never seen in them before. They were whirling and snarling, their jaws snapping shut with a force that could break bones. John just hoped that Carl could lure them away far enough to give him a fighting chance.

  He looked back over his shoulder, and in the dimming light he could see the silhouette of Carl, far out along the branch. John turned back to the dead below him and began waving his arms more vigorously and hurling abuse.

  He began to raise himself up on to his haunches, knowing that the time for him to leap down was close. He steadied himself against the tree and breathed deeply as he studied the ground below. He searched for a patch of earth that was even and presented less chance of a twisted ankle when he landed. Any kind of injury now would be a death sentence.

  The creatures still lingered at the foot of the tree, staring back at him and snarling but he knew that when the time came, they would be off chasing Carl, leaving the immediate area clear for him to make a run for it.

  Carl was in position, steeling himself for the drop. His heart pounded in his ears and his head throbbed. He run his rough tongue over his lips in an attempt to moisten them but it served no purpose. He was too dehydrated and his lips felt parched and cracked. His legs shook and his stomach lurched as he began to raise himself up.

  "Okay, Carl, they're all yours, mate. I'm ready when you are!" John hollered over his shoulder, all the time keeping an eye on the four walking dead below him.

  The tree suddenly swayed below him as Carl leaped from the branch. The thin branches lashed at his face as he fell, feet first, toward the ground. A moment later, and he felt the soft floor of the woods as his feet made contact in the rustling dead leaves and soil. Immediately, he sprang into action and threw himself upright.

  Without another thought, he headed away from the tree at a sprint. He was not sure if any of them had heard or seen him, but he did not want to pause to find out. As he ran, he began to shout. Crashing through the undergrowth and ferns, he made enough noise to be heard throughout the wood.

  The dead below John stopped at the sudden commotion. They spun in the direction that Carl had landed and took off after him.

  The ground was clear.

  John took in a deep breath and stepped off from the tree. He felt himself fall through the air and watched as the ground rushed up to meet him. A split second before impact, he screwed his eyes shut; his feet made contact first and then his knees, followed by his palms. His arms buckled beneath him and he landed head first amongst the fallen leaves and branches. Instinctively, he rolled to the side and came up to a crouch as he hefted his steel bar above his head, ready to swing down on to the head of anything that attacked him.

  He turned and ran.

  Sprinting through the trees, Carl could hear the dead behind him. They crashed through the woods with all the grace of an attacking bull elephant. They snarled, moaned and wailed as they pursued him.

  Carl stole a backward glance over his shoulder. All four were chasing him. Fear gripped him and his legs pumped harder. He began to work his way around in a wide arc, hoping to double back and catch up with John, who by now should be headed for the mansion.

  John's legs shook with each step. They were weak and he hoped that they would not buckle on him. He could hear Carl in the distance as he ran through the woods and he could hear the creatures that chased him. John considered slowing down and even waiting for Carl to catch him up.

  No, stick to the plan.

  Carl was losing his breath. It was harder than he had expected. Though fear and adrenaline was enough to get him started, it was not enough to sustain him. His body trembled and his knees threatened to give way. It was beginning to feel like he was running through ankle-deep mud as his legs struggled to continue lifting his feet at the same pace. His body felt heavy and he knew he was slowing.

  There was no sign of John. He was up ahead somewhere and Carl now felt completely alone as he charged through the trees, the dead gaining on him. He wanted to call out to John, but his lungs would not allow it. They burned and each breath hurt.

  Fuck, I'm going to die, he began to say to himself repeatedly in his head.

  At that moment, if he had carried a gun he would have used it on himself. He was exhausted and terror gripped him as he f
elt the dead close the gap. Tears began to fill his eyes. John was gone and he was happy for him, but now he was to face a slow and agonising death at the hands and teeth of the ever-ravenous walking, running dead.

  A shadowy figure charged at him from the front. With all his energy spent, Carl could not even change his direction to avoid the threat; it ran straight at him and from the corners of his eyes, he saw two more converging. A whimper involuntarily escaped from his lips.

  Shit, there are more of them.

  This was the end for him. Surrounded and worn out, he was about to die.

  With blurred vision, he watched as the first of the approaching figures ran straight past him, then the second, then the third. Before he could turn, he heard the sounds of heavy bodies hitting the floor and the thump and crunch as heavy objects smashed into flesh and bone. He heard voices, too, but in his pounding and ringing ears, he could not understand them. On shaky and unsteady legs, he turned and staggered after them.

  Carl rubbed his eyes. John, Steve and Lee stood over the limp bodies of the four, now permanently, dead. In the blink of an eye, and with complete surprise, they had dispatched them. They now lay in a heap, their skulls smashed in on the ground at the feet of his three saviours.

  They looked back at him, their clubs and hammers hanging bloodied in their hands.

  "Carl, you okay?" Steve asked as he walked towards him, holding out his hand.

  John was panting hard. He bent double with his hands resting on his knees as he sucked in the air.

  "I...bet...you thought...I'd...left you?" he stammered.

  Carl tried to focus his vision. Stars shot in from his peripherals and bright colours danced across his eyes. His knees collapsed from beneath him and he crumpled to the floor. On his hands and knees, he felt his stomach churn and he began to vomit uncontrollably. It assaulted him in waves and there was nothing that he could do that would stop it. Instead, he let it happen.

  Carl rolled on to his back, bile and snot smearing his face as he gasped for air. Above him, all he could see was the dark shapes of the three men looming over him.