by RR Haywood
The infection does not need a substantial length of time. It needs this time now to create panic with the use of a host that causes more fear than any other creature on the planet.
It knows that spiders respond to pheromones. So it dumps pheromones. Lots of them, and it makes the spiders wild with aggression.
Garden spiders, house spiders, huge wolf spiders, daddy long legs, orb weavers, false widows, money spiders, spotted wolfs, spitting spiders and more that range from tiny to huge. Many were already hovering in the air above Paula and Marcy, hanging on strands of web while more clung by their claws to the ceiling tiles.
Now the pulse of an urge is sent through their tiny brains and the ceilings of the shops, buildings, flats and houses in the town centre broil with dark masses of eight legged creatures that become frenzied for food.
Paula and Marcy snap their heads up to look forward at first the sound of Heather’s voice then Mo’s. In that blink of an eye and a beat of a heart so the windows within the centre implode as the attack is launched. They both surge up to their feet as the spiders drop. They both flinch in confusion at the overwhelming assault to their senses of people screaming, Mo firing, windows breaking, infected screeching and the feel of hundreds of things landing in their hair, on their faces and down their bare arms.
At that second they gain awareness. At that second they feel the thousands of clawed feet scrabbling for purchase on their skin. At that second the true realisation hits home and as one they look up to a ceiling now alive and seething with spiders that drop in a deluge of spindly legs, sharp claws and sharper fangs that dig into whatever they can find. They both scream out with an instinctive revulsion that renders them unable to gain coherent thought. Some miss and hit the floor where they run hither and thither until they find feet to climb and legs to crawl up.
More land on Paula and Marcy. Burrowing into hair and dropping down backs to claw down their spines. Wild panic grips them. An utter disbelief of a thing happening. Spiders don’t do this. Spiders are solitary creatures. It is happening. They can feel it. They can feel the mad scrabble of eight legged things crawling over their cheeks and the strands of silk formed in silk glands and pumped through their anus-like spinnerets. Fangs dig in. Some are too small to pierce the layers of human skin but they try. They bite and claw and dump pheromones that send the others wild and crazed. Others can bite and they do. They dig those sharp fangs into the skin to inject venom ready to liquefy the insides to be sucked out and consumed.
Paula screams the loudest she has ever screamed. A screech of pure terror from her worst nightmare now coming true. Marcy spins on the spot, beating herself with wild thumps and slaps. She plucks spiders from her arms as more crawl down over her face. She slaps and hits herself, thrashing wilder with every passing second.
Paula flails, spinning and screaming into a shelving unit that crashes over sending baby goods flying over the floor. Marcy stamps, slaps and shouts while outside Mo’s pistols boom one after the other and overhead the sky splits with an almighty crack of thunder from the clouds that formed as unseen as the infected pouring into the town.
Spiders are crushed, squashed, flung away, booted, hit and slapped but for every single arachnid they kill so hundreds more continue to rain down from the ceiling tiles.
Mo hears their screams but he can’t move. The attack is too strong and the infected are coming too fast. Training kicks in. The calmness of the moment. Aim and fire. One after the other. Emotions do not aid us. Fear does not aid us. Anger does not aid us. He takes that step into the world shown to him by Dave. Aim and fire. Aim and fire. Heads blow apart from the bullets sent spinning through. Bodies drop as Mo makes every shot count. Thunder overhead. Noises from the front. Marcy and Paula screaming behind him. He stays calm and denies the prickle of panic inside his gut.
*
In the street they are caught completely unprepared. Cookey and Blinky strolling up on the left side trading insults to score points freeze as Heather’s voice shouts through the radio. They spin to look back, both already switching to focus as Mo shouts contact. A second in time passes then the windows go. An explosion of glass from what feels like every window in the street bursting out from human figures charging through. Bodies drop from windows. The sounds of bones snapping and the dull thuds of meat impacting from a drop. Screeches fill the air. Inhuman and wild. The whole street comes alive with hordes pouring to fill the spaces between them and the others. The infected charge. They both blanch in the second it takes to change the mind-set and prepare to fight. Shots ring out as the closest attackers spin away with heads blown apart.
*
Charlie hears Heather then Mo and twitches to bring Jess round as the street detonates. Glass showers down and all around her. Voices wild and primeval fill the air. Gunshots from the shopping centre. Everything happening in the blink of an eye and the beat of a heart. She flinches at a body dropping from a window above aiming straight at her but the thing is slammed away in mid-air. No time to look again or think. The gap between her and Cookey and Blinky is already filled, the same with the spaces between all of them.
*
Nick and Roy hear the same thing. The burst transmission from Heather then Mo. They freeze, spinning on the spot as Roy reaches back to draw an arrow from the top of his bag. The windows go to the left, to the right and on the other side of the street. Glass fragments spray out as Nick lifts his rifle with an instinct telling him to make ready. The blink of an eye, the beat of a heart and the beasts come screeching and wild. Roy takes one step out and spots the street already seething. Further up he sees Charlie on Jess and a body bursting from a window above. He lifts, draws and fires to send the arrow shooting across the street that slams the falling male with such power it snaps the body away from Charlie who digs in to make Jess give flight and gain distance.
In that instant they can both see the street is lost.
*
In the dead centre of the street stand three men. Three men who cock heads at the transmission from Heather. Three men who turn at the transmission from Mo and three men who then look round to the windows of the street exploding out.
Here there is no panic. Their calmness is sublime. This is what they do. This is why they are here. For this. To do just this. Nothing else. Be as you are. Be as you were born to be and do not heed the worries of others or the small things of life that give concern for you are a warrior and this is your time.
Howie and Clarence lift rifles in the same second they realise neither of them are good enough to shoot without risk of missing and hitting their own. Dave is good enough. This is fact. His rifle lifts aims and commences with perfect single shots that buy Cookey and Blinky time to react. He saw the body plummeting from the window towards Charlie but he also saw Roy drawing back which told him which targets to choose.
Howie takes it all in. The noise is all around and in that blink of an eye and beat of a heart he knows there is no possible way to get everyone back to the vehicles. The numbers coming in are too many and moving too fast.
‘Dave, cover Clarence…Clarence, get Reggie to Nick and Roy…both of you,’ Howie shouts, snapping Nick and Roy’s heads over as he points at the shop behind them. ‘Get in…get up,’ he points up as he shouts the order. ‘Nick, protect Roy. Roy, overwatch. Reggie, go with them…’
Clarence runs to grab a terrified Reginald from the van and fills his arms with the bags of spare arrows taken from the sports shop. Nick smashes the window as Roy fires the bow at the infected coming close.
Howie hunkers down, dropping to a crouch to bend his body and shield the background noise from his radio. He presses the button to speak but the noise is too immense, drowning out his voice. ‘Dave…orders…’
‘Ready, Mr Howie,’ Dave says between plucking shots.
‘Tell everyone to leg it…’
‘ORDERS…TEAM WILL SCATTER…IN AN ORDERLY FASHION…’ Dave’s immense voice booms over the precinct. His words fast but clear as his mind w
orks to track targets that he shoots down between the words.
‘Tell ‘em to stay calm…we’ll be okay.’
‘TEAM WILL REMAIN CALM…’
‘Just hide until we call them back…’
‘TEAM WILL GO TO GROUND AND WAIT ORDERS…’
‘That includes Charlie cos she’ll try and fight the lot on her own…’
‘CHARLOTTE…THAT INCLUDES YOU…SCATTER AND WAIT ORDERS…’
That’s it. That’s all there is time for. The surge is so great that Clarence just about gets Reginald through the now smashed window to Nick and Roy before the ever growing horde closes in. Dave walks backwards firing burst shots to get as many as he can as Howie slings his rifle and pulls his axe overhead as the first one charges at him. He steps away, expecting to see the infected woman go past but her reactions are fast and she turns to close in. With nothing else to do he goes forward to slam his forehead into her face. Bones crunch. Blood sprays. She drops from the impact and finds the axe coming down to cleave through her neck.
Clarence turns from the window expecting to draw his axe but the ferocity and speed of the attack is staggering. The sheer overwhelming aggression is incredible. A cluster of men and women slam bodily into him driving the big man back through the window Nick broke. The window ledge snags Clarence’s ankles making him topple backwards with mouths and nails coming in faster than he has time to react. He thrashes to fight, bunching his great fists that start whacking them aside like ragdolls. A glimpse through the bodies to Dave already with two knives drawn and spinning to fight and a flash of a view of Howie lashing out with his axe.
‘CLARENCE STAY DOWN STAY DOWN.’
Clarence stays down. He really stays down. He really stays down to avoid the bullets firing inches above him as Nick goes to the side to strafe the bodies attacking him.
‘CLEAR…’
Clarence surges to gain his feet and charge out into the fray but this time with his axe drawn and ready.
*
Blowers and Maddox glaring at each other with open hatred are caught as unawares as everyone else.
First the transmission from Heather. ‘OUT…GET OUT…TRAP TRAP…GET OUT NOW…’
Then the transmission from Mo. ‘CONTACT CONTACT CONTACT.’
A blink of an eye. A beat of a heart and the windows blow out down the length of the precinct. The sight is spectacular. An entrancing visual phenomenon as the final rays of sunlight pushing through the rapidly darkening clouds catch the chunks and shards of glass that twinkle and shine as they fall down. Both of them blink. Both stunned at the noise and sight. Both rooted to the spot as hundreds of infected pour through the ground level and first floor windows. They see bodies drop to die and the simple snuffing of lives gone for nothing other than a show of power from a side only too willing to sacrifice its own hosts.
‘Fuck,’ Blowers mouths, snapping to the now and the sudden change of events that his soldiers eyes process. He goes forward intending to run back to the vehicles but already the precinct is thick with too many. He stops to scan round, desperately seeking alternatives. He knows he cannot fire into the infected for fear of hitting his own team.
Maddox has no such worries and strides past Blowers with his rifle lifting to brace in his shoulder. Blowers reacts fast, lunging while shouting at him not to fire. A single pluck of the trigger sends a round through a window with the noise lost in the bedlam of the attack.
‘What the fuck,’ Maddox shouts, jerking away.
‘Friendly fire you cunt,’ Blowers snaps, glaring back at the already packed precinct then behind to empty street at the rear. ‘Come on…’
‘You joking?’ Maddox asks in genuine shock as Blowers moves towards the precinct.
‘Now, Maddox…we’ll run through…’
‘Fuck that,’ Maddox booms, backing away while shaking his head. His eyes wide, his whole manner that of a man with a firm decision in mind.
‘We can’t leave them…’ Blowers shouts, snapping from the sight of the hordes pouring in to Maddox backing away. In just seconds the street is gone and with it the chance of reaching the vehicles. He snarls, grimaces and thinks to go anyway. His mates are there.
‘ORDERS…TEAM WILL SCATTER…IN AN ORDERLY FASHION…’
‘Bollocks,’ Blowers spits, seeing the sense of the orders.
‘TEAM WILL REMAIN CALM…’
Blowers knows that it will be Howie telling Dave what to say and that single fact eases the grip of fear in his guts. For Howie to be so calm means he knows the others are all okay.
‘TEAM WILL GO TO GROUND AND WAIT ORDERS…’
It makes sense. Everyone can starburst and work a way through later. They can regroup and come back to fight in formation.
‘CHARLOTTE…THAT INCLUDES YOU…SCATTER AND WAIT ORDERS…’
‘Come on,’ Blowers turns to tell Maddox to move and spots the lad already running away. That Dave told them to run is one thing but Maddox already running is still fucking annoying. He legs it after him. Running hard to sprint away from the precinct. ‘NO,’ he shouts after Maddox heading down the street they came from. There’s more shops down there and the buildings are high on both sides. To go that way is inviting to be trapped.
Maddox stops to see Blowers staring at him. The two men pause to stare at each other and the intent in Maddox’s face to use this time to disappear is clear as day. So clear in fact that Blowers’ face hardens as his rifle lifts an inch in preparation to aim and fire. Maddox glares back with an urge to tell Blowers to let him go. He even considers promising never to go near the fort again but he knows the soldier will shoot him down.
‘On you,’ Maddox says, running back towards Blowers who holds that poise for a second before moving on into the service road.
Twenty-Three
A cruel trick. The venerable gods in all their glory cast the die to rejoice with mirth at the hands played. It matters not for they are but mortals to be played with. They are but men and women who possess only the superficial qualities of sentient beings.
Yesterday they experienced goodness and what it feels like to be loved and respected and the warmth of a thing done right. They returned to the fort and ate good food in the company of good people. They slept soundly and woke without hunger gnawing in their bellies.
That was the good but as in all ways of life so the hand will be played that brings forth the suffering. And such suffering too for it gets worse.
Night comes. It comes early as the thick grey clouds blot the last remaining rays of the setting sun. Darkness pervades and creeps to steal over the once upmarket little town nestled in the countryside of southern England. It happens quickly too. Like a switch going off. One minute there was light. Now there is none.
They lose coherent thought. They lose all ability to form rational judgement to seek a resolution to the current situation but then one cannot blame them. Their worst fears pour down over them with thousands of spindly legs crawling upon their flesh while fangs sink and bite and silken sticky webs trace over their faces. If that wasn’t bad enough, so the light goes and they are plunged into darkness.
That darkness makes the sensations only worse. They fight though. They fight and scream to pull creatures with bodies that crunch in their hands and spill hot goo over their fingers. They throw them aside and feel more all over them. They batter their own legs, faces and pull their own hair out. They run and smash into high shelving units that spill goods onto the floor that trip and snag their feet. They tumble, trip and fall only to feel the horror of being on a ground covered in more spiders.
Mo cannot get to them. He is as pinned to his place as Howie, Dave and Clarence are. The press of the attack is too great. The numbers coming are too vast. He fires his pistols until both magazines click empty. He re-holsters and tugs his rifle round to keep firing and fill the darkened interior main corridor of the shopping centre with bright muzzle flashes. The bodies mount up. The blood flies and he scores kills but still they keep coming. He chang
es magazine as quick as a flash and goes back to firing while behind him Paula and Marcy fight something they now cannot see and cannot stop.
Paula trips to sprawl out. Banging her knees and hands as she goes down. That impact on the ground makes several drop off her and with a pulse of instinct she drops to lie flat and rolls while feeling the crunch of spider bodies under her frame.
‘ROLL MARCY…ROLL MARCY…’ she screams the words twice and intends to scream more but a spider drops into her open mouth. She gags and cries out as legs and claws scrabble over her tongue and push into her cheeks. Her brain sends the signal to bite down faster than her mind can tell it to stop. She bites and chews. She chews fast before realising what it is she is doing. Goo explodes in her mouth. The legs crunch between her teeth. Her stomach heaves, flips and surges up her windpipe to spew out over the floor. She scrabbles back screaming and puking with hot tears burning her eyes and more things dropping into her hair and down her back.
Marcy slaps and slaps. She kills, squashes and crushes with a fleeting sensation of fighting back. Panic takes over. The thought of them. The mental image of the segmented legs, the shape, the swollen abdomens and the fangs biting and nipping. She screams as Paula screams. She cannot see the way out now. It’s too dark. She runs backwards into a shelving unit and in that panic she grabs whatever her hands can find to throw. Sealed packets of toothbrushes fly across the shop. Boxes of toothpaste rain down and she gains kills as those boxes plummet to crush the smaller spiders but she may as well be pissing in the ocean for the good it does. Not that she computes that so she carries on throwing anything she can grasp. Her right foot steps down on a round can of deodorant that slides out in front of her. She goes to fall but throws herself back with a jarring impact into the shelving unit. A sudden jab of pain on her earlobe then the sensation of a thing crawling into her ear. She jabs her finger in and feels something pop and crunch. Another one scrabbles down her face. She snatches it to grip and squeeze. Another one on her other ear, more in her hair, more on her arms and she loses the last ounce of control to thrash on the spot with arms and legs flailing in an act of demented angst.