When There's No More Room in Hell 2

by Luke Duffy

  "They’ve been bit, that’s why."

  "So you just want to dump them in that room and be done with them?" Gary's tone was filled with anger as he questioned Jake's morality.

  "Gary," Jake sighed, "they've been bitten. We cannot leave them in here. It's not safe for any of us."

  Gary clenched his fists and took a step forward. He felt the heat radiating from his own body as his blood pressure increased. A shiver ran up along his spine, and he felt the hairs on his neck and forearms stand on end.

  Through gritted teeth, he snarled, "Jake, what in God's name is wrong with you? That's John laying there, a friend of ours. Do you want to discard him like a bag of rubbish? Get a grip on yourself, they are not dead yet. We have to help them and do whatever we can for them"

  He leaned over the two unconscious men and began to check their pulse and breathing while examining their wounds.

  Jake's shoulders slumped. "Sorry, Gary, you're right. I'm just scared, is all."

  Gary kept his eyes on John and Simon as he nodded. "I know, Jake. We all are. Help me carry them over to the sofas."

  He turned to the two young men that had arrived with Jake. "You two, if you're going to be staying here, you may as well help out. What are your names?"

  "I'm Stan," the first introduced his self and nodded at his friend, "and this is Kieran."

  "Good, I'm Gary. Give us a hand, will you?"

  The four of them hefted Simon and John and carried them the short distance to the sitting area of the foyer. Karen arrived from the kitchen with a bowl of hot water, towels and dressings for the wounded men and placed them down beside Gary as Claire and Sophie began helping to care for the injured.

  Gary stepped back and approached Jake.

  "What happened out there, lad? Where are Steve and Helen?"

  Jake stepped back and leaned against the heavy antique table, shaking his head and unable to look Gary in the eye.

  "I don’t know where they are. We were split up. It was awful, Gary, and it was my fault. If my foot hadn't slipped off the pedal, John would be okay and Steve and Helen would be here with us." He began to shake his head more vigorously.

  "It’s my fucking fault," he stated again as he looked up. His eyes were wet with tears and his bottom lip quivered.

  "Jake, you're not making sense. How is it your fault? What happened?"

  "It's not his fault." Kieran stepped up to them and placed a hand on Jake's shoulder as he turned to Gary.

  "He was driving when we were making our escape from the supermarket and the clutch slipped under his foot. John fell and Steve and Helen were surrounded by those things. It could've happened to anyone."

  He looked back down at the sobbing Jake. "It could've happened to anyone, mate. It isn't your fault."

  "He's right, Jake. It could have been anyone of us that was driving." Gary nodded, trying to console his friend.

  The heavy doors to the front of the house crashed open and Gary spun to see Lee stumble into the foyer. He was unsteady on his feet and he placed a hand against the wall to balance himself while the other was held firmly against the side of his head. The little scruffy bearded man was at the side of him, his arm around his waist and helping him to walk.

  Lee paused, his palm still pressed against the side of his blooded and swollen face. With fire and pain in his eyes, he glared at Kieran and Jake.

  "Cunts," he mumbled to himself before collapsing back onto a large armchair.

  Gary continued staring at Lee for a moment, then looked to Jake and then to Kieran, perplexed. "What was all that about?"

  Kieran shrugged. "He was out of control, so we had to put him out."

  "You mean, you put him down," Gary spoke his words in a tone that indicated he was aiming the question directly at Kieran. "You beat Lee up?"

  Kieran looked down at Gary, "Yeah, me and Stan."

  "You fucking jumped me, more like," Lee growled as he sat forward, inspecting the blood on his palm from the wound in his head.

  "These bastards filled me in when I wanted to go back to rescue Steve and Helen."

  "We couldn’t have gone back," Stan said in a raised and angered voice. "There were too many of them and we would all be dead now."

  Lee did not reply. He leaned back in the chair and grumbled something unintelligible. He winced and groaned with pain as Sophie knelt down in front of him with a wet towel and began cleaning up the gash in the side of his head.

  "Oh don’t be such a big baby, Lee," she smiled at him. "You'll live."

  Gary nodded at the skulking, bearded man that remained close to the door. He looked scared and vulnerable, and unsure of where to go or what to do.

  "Who is this, then?"

  "That’s Johnny," Stan replied.

  "Yeah, Johnny Boots," Kieran added.

  Gary and Stan looked at him curiously.

  "Johnny Boots," Kieran stated again to his friend Stan in an attempt to jog his memory. "Surely, you know him? He's the local celebrity homeless bloke. Everybody knows who Johnny Boots is."

  A moment of realisation flashed across the face of Stan. "Ah yeah, I know him. There's even a Facebook page for him. I've seen him all over the place, walking about and laughing at people. I heard a rumour that they were making a film about him."

  Kieran looked disapprovingly at his friend. "You're as dumb as a bag of hammers, aren't you, Stan. You believe everything they put on that stupid site, don’t you."

  "Just what I heard," Stan shrugged.

  "Okay, Ant and Dec," Gary interrupted, "well you'll be part of our gang now, I suppose. For now, go get that tanker and drive it round to the back."

  "We don’t know how to drive one of them," Stan admitted.

  Gary shook his head. "Take Johnny with you then. He brought it here so you can help him." He looked over at Johnny. "That okay with you?"

  The shy bearded man nodded in reply.

  "We need to go back for Steve," Lee grumbled from the armchair.

  Gary turned and looked down at him. "You're in no condition to go anywhere, Lee. Once we have patched you up and done what we can for John and Simon, we will see what the best course of action is."

  "We can't go back to the supermarket, Lee," Kieran added. "There's thousands of them there and I bet Steve and Helen wouldn’t be there anyway. If they have any sense, they would be long gone. If we go back, those dead shits will be all over us like a tramp on chips." Kieran glanced up at Johnny who remained in the corner, watching everyone. "No offence, mate."

  "None taken," Johnny shook his head. "I'm not a tramp. I have a home." He paused a moment in thought. "Well, I did have."

  "Lee," Kieran stepped forward towards the bloodied and bruised man sitting in the large armchair. "You need to understand mate, I know Steve is your friend but we can't go back there. Steve wouldn’t want us to either. He knows how risky it would be, and besides, like I said, he won't be there."

  Lee let out a long sigh, finally giving into reason and slumping back in the large cushions of the armchair.

  "You're right," he agreed. "But that doesn’t mean I'm your fucking mate now." He turned his gaze towards Stan. "Or you. You two wankers jumped me. You couldn’t have done it on your own."

  Kieran nodded, understanding that it was now a matter of pride and that eventually, the strong proud lion that was inside of Lee, would need to put matters back into their natural order. For his own self-respect, Lee needed to reclaim his position of dominance over the two young men.

  "Okay, Lee. When you're healed, we'll settle it."

  Lee went to stand but Sophie pushed him back, her hand pressed in the centre of his chest and her eyes locked on his.

  "No, Lee. Leave it."

  Kieran nodded to him, a nod that was almost a bow of respect before a pending dual. "Give it time, mate. We'll have our day."

  Lee glowered, and then watched Kieran and Stan leave the room, headed towards the tanker with Johnny in tow. Kieran walked with his head up, his shoulders back and an overwhel
ming air of confidence. Stan was less imposing. He avoided looking into Lee's eyes.

  Lee knew that he could easily take Stan in a stand up fight, maybe even Kieran, but he also knew that at that moment, in the condition he was in, he would not stand a chance. His pride had almost gotten the better of him, willing his damaged and exhausted body into a second battle with Kieran while he was at a disadvantage. He suspected, though, that the powerful young man, through his own sense of fair play and his principles, would have backed down knowing that it would not be a fair contest.

  Lee sighed and smiled to himself.

  "What you grinning at?" Sophie questioned him as she rinsed off the bloodstained towel in the fresh bowl of hot water.

  "Nothing," Lee shook his head. "Just, well, they aren't bad lads really."

  A shriek from the couch shocked them as Simon suddenly sat bolt upright, knocking the dressings from Claire's hands. His eyes were red and his face as pale as marble. The top layer of his skin looked almost transparent and the multitude of veins beneath the surface was visible, looking black as they contrasted with his pallor. He looked about the room, his burning eyes fixing on each individual in turn. He turned his head to the attention of the wound in his shoulder, the torn flesh turning black around the edges and the muscle and sinew shining bright red beneath.

  He let out a whimper and looked back at Claire.

  "I'm going to die, aren't I?" His eyes were pleading with her, begging her to contradict him.

  Claire felt lost. She did not know what to say to the man.

  "We don’t know that, Simon," Gary said as he knelt down beside the couch. "You're in good hands here and we will do all we can for you." He did not know what else to say to him.

  Everybody had seen people bitten by the dead, and no one had been known to survive the infection that would ravage the body afterwards.

  "Johnny," Simon said in a quivering voice. "Is Johnny okay? Where is he?"

  "Johnny is fine, Simon," Claire replied. "You need to rest. Don’t worry about Johnny. He is here with us. He's safe."

  Simon's eyes began to glaze over and roll upwards. His body seemed to lose all the strength to remain upright and he slowly sank back down again, drifting into unconsciousness.

  "I…I only…wanted a tent…," he murmured.

  Gary placed a hand on Claire's shoulder. "I'll take over here. You had better go and see to Sarah. She will want to know where her dad is."

  Claire nodded and passed the dressings over to Gary as Carl came bounding down the stairs, an anxious look on his face.

  "Lisa came to relieve me." He looked down at John, who was still unconscious on the couch. "Shit...," he groaned.

  He and John had become close and Carl already knew that he had lost his friend.

  Gary looked up at him with sympathetic eyes. "We'll do what we can for him, Carl. Here," he handed him a pile of dressings and towels, "help him."

  Jake had remained quiet and inactive throughout. He slumped against the table and his head drooped so that his chin rested on his chest. Lee watched him from the large armchair. He could feel his anger abating and being replaced with empathy and compassion. He knew that it was not Jake's fault and that it could have happened to anyone.

  Slowly, and in agony, Lee leaned forward and began to climb out of the chair, grimacing with the pain that throbbed in his head. Sophie tried to stop him as he raised himself.

  "It's okay; I'm not going to do anything stupid, Sophie."

  He smiled at her, reopening the cuts to his face as he did so. He leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips. His skin flushed and he felt the heat glow from within her as she kissed him in return.

  "I've been dying to do that for ages," he whispered into her ear.

  Without opening her eyes, and savouring the moment, Sophie groaned, "Me too."

  Lee staggered across to Jake. His legs were unsure of themselves, but he fought hard to keep his composure and dignity. He reached the table and placed a hand onto it to balance himself as he turned and leaned his back against the hard antique wood. He was now side by side with Jake and, for a moment, he watched the young man at his side, unsure of what to say. Eventually, he followed his instincts, placing an arm over Jake's shoulder and pulling him in close. Jake began to sob on Lee's shoulder.

  "Shhh, it's okay, mate. I'm sorry for losing my rag with you back there." He rubbed Jake's back. "Honestly, I'm sorry, Jake. It wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me?"

  He lowered his head and lifted Jake's chin so that they could see each other. "I mean it, it wasn’t your fault. I was just upset and worried about Steve and Helen is all. I would be the same way if it was you that was left behind."

  Jake leaned back and blew out a long loud sigh in an attempt to gather himself. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve and turned to look at Lee.

  "I just wish that my foot hadn't slipped. Steve and Helen would be here now, and John would be okay." His voice threatened to break again.

  Lee nodded in thought. "Well you know what they say about wishes don’t you; you can wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first."

  Jake snorted a laugh that was halfway between a whimper and a snigger. For some unknown reason, Jake had always found it very important that he be accepted as a friend by Lee, even more important than Steve and Gary. He was drawn to the uncompromising, hard hitting and sometimes, completely wild, almost feral man. He was not sure what it was. He had considered that he could be attracted to Lee, but he soon realised that he was not. It was something else, an intense respect he had developed for the man and his attributes, however Neolithic they seemed. Jake realised that, in the old days, a man like Lee would have been considered socially retarded, maybe even inept but in the new world, Lee was a warrior and a leader.

  "Thanks, Lee," he smiled. "It means a lot."

  "Don’t be daft, you big poof." Lee slapped him across the back as he felt that the atmosphere had grown a little too tender for his liking.

  "Come on, let's help Gary. We can't sit around here sulking all fucking day."

  Jake smiled and nodded at him. He felt his heart soar and swell now that he had been given the tough love man talk from Lee as he followed him over to where Gary and Carl helped the two wounded men.

  Sophie glanced over at Jake as they crossed the room. She smiled slightly and Jake returned the gesture. Her smile grew broader and then she followed it by sticking out her tongue and giving him a wink.

  26

  "Okay boys, it's time we got moving."

  Marcus looked across at Stu standing by the door, checking the area immediately in front of the building. He turned to Marcus and held up a thumb, nodding at the same time.

  Jim finished packing up the heavy High Frequency radio after they had checked in with Gary for the morning. He stood up, throwing the pack over his shoulder and nodding to Marcus, indicating that he was ready to move.

  "You sure you don’t want to come with us, Pete?" Marcus asked.

  Pete remained standing by the fireplace; his brother, Michael, still curled up on one of the benches beside it, snoring and giggling in his sleep.

  "No," he replied, shaking his head. "As I told you, we live close by, and besides we would only slow you down."

  Marcus shrugged. He was not going to argue with the man. If he chose to stay behind, it was entirely his choice.

  "Okay, here," Marcus held out his hand and Pete saw the dull sheen of the black metal. "Take it. I'm sorry we can't offer you more, but it’s the best we can do I'm afraid."

  Pete took the pistol in his hand. The weight and cold of the metal was strangely reassuring to him. "Thanks, Marcus, and good luck to you all."

  "You too, mate." Marcus reached out and shook Pete's hand. They shared a moment of eye contact that spoke volumes. They both knew that very soon, either one of them could be dead, maybe even both of them, but their eyes willed one another to make it and survive.

  Marcus turned away. Quickly, he check
ed his weapons and bounced up and down on the spot to settle his heavy assault vest that was loaded down with ammunition. It had always been his habit. He compared it to a boxer waiting for the bell of the first round as he loosens up, ready for action. He headed for the door as the rest of his men began to exit.

  "So long Pete. Look after that brother of yours," Jim called over his shoulder as he stepped outside.

  "Yeah Pete, add me on Facebook when you get the chance," Stu added.

  Pete watched through the window as the team of battle-hardened veterans mounted up on to their vehicle. "God speed, lads."

  Jim put the vehicle in gear and began to head towards the main road. "What do you think, Marcus? Will they make it?"

  Marcus looked back over his shoulder at the old country pub as it slowly disappeared out of sight around the bend in the lane. "I hope so, Jim."

  That morning, Marcus and his team had conducted a map study. The best that they could find had been an old, out of date A to Z road atlas in one of the drawers along with an old Ordinance Survey map behind the bar. They decided that they would use the main artery roads only to get them away from London and to put some distance between them and the capital. After that, they would stick to the minor roads, avoiding densely populated areas and most importantly, likely highways that the military could be using as main supply routes.

  They still feared the idea of being caught up in the counter offensive that they could hear in the distance as the assault on London continued. The faint screech of the jets as they flew in on their bomb runs and the dull thuds and booms of their ordinance as they hit their targets echoed across the miles of ground that separated the large city from Marcus and his men.

  By late morning, they had reached what they considered a safe distance from London and they turned onto the maze of minor country roads that crisscrossed the Midlands. The small towns and villages had given way to vast expanses of rolling countryside, but the roads there still held their own dangers. Stalled or crashed vehicles littered the country lanes, forcing them to slow down to a crawl as they negotiated the obstacles. It was at these times that the team were at their most vulnerable; being caught in a bottleneck that forced them to reduce their speed made them an easy target for both the living and the dead.