by Drew Brown
A gasp from Juliette brought Budd’s eyes to the front; a human-shaped form sprinted towards them from their left, potentially able to cut them off.
With each successive stride, the definition of the person’s clothes and their facial features grew clearer. The boy, maybe ten or twelve years old, was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a blue, denim-looking short-sleeved shirt. He had a head of disheveled hair and the dark, tangled mass bounced as he ran. His open mouth revealed two lines of crooked teeth; his lips were stained with dried saliva and his hands were stretched out ahead of him. His right eye was dark and bloody.
When the distance between them had shrunk to fifty feet, Budd raised his handgun at the boy-beast, trying to adjust for the speeds at which they were moving, to use the deflection shooting techniques he’d learned as a pilot. He knew it was going to be a difficult shot, but he still had plenty of ammunition left, a full clip, and so he fired.
At just the right time, the boy swerved, dropping his right shoulder and powering away for a few steps before straightening back up and making a beeline again for Budd and Juliette.
Budd took another shot.
The boy-beast swerved again.
Me, rusty? Probably. But I’d always been a good shot. Dodging one was luck. A second? Only straight fashion photographers are that lucky.
But that would mean he was trying to avoid my bullets. And the beasts I’d seen before didn’t do that. They seemed happy to get shot.
Well, happy enough…
The realization of what was happening stunned Budd for a moment, disrupting his run so that Juliette pulled half a pace away from him.
Could I have been mistaken? Was it a real, living person after all? A kid? I began to question myself; had I gone crazy with bloodlust, unable to tell friend from foe? Hell, I was a trained United States military man, surely that couldn’t happen to me. What? Why are you looking at me funny?
Friendly fire?
Oh, you’ve seen the news…
Budd examined his target intently, wondering if he’d made a mistake. The boy’s right eye was not simply bloody: the socket was empty except for a small clump of optic nerve that hung down his cheek. This, his exposed teeth, and the way his hands opened and closed, clawing at the air, dispelled Budd’s alarming thoughts.
Even so, it led him to a notion that he found even more disturbing: the one-eyed beast was not attacking with mindless rage, he was not charging onwards, ignorant enough to be shot down like so many of his brethren. Rather, he appeared to be thinking, planning. He seemed to care about his own self-preservation.
This, I was sure, was not a good thing…
Budd stopped and forced Juliette to do the same by pulling back on her arm. They came to a standstill about thirty feet from the one-eyed boy, who slowed as well, walking forward cautiously, with his attention focused upon the Glock. For a second or so, Budd watched as the beast came on. It snarled softly under its breath. He was sure that it was thinking; using what intelligence it had to its best effect.
With a flick of his wrist, Budd changed the position of the barrel, targeting the weapon at the torso of the beast. He squeezed the trigger. The one-eyed monster checked its advance and moved to the left, attempting to throw off his aim, but instead of firing once, Budd loosed seven bullets, only ceasing when the last two caught the nimble-footed beast square in his chest and knocked him to the ground. Budd hurried over, lowering the handgun so that it was pointed at the head of the boy-beast as he writhed around on the tarmac, blood pumping from two wounds, one in his stomach and one in the base of his neck.
“Dodge this,” Budd said, firing the handgun one more time. The bullet entered the boy’s skull, bursting out onto the road in a semicircular pattern of blood, brain and bone.
“Come on, Monsieur Ashby. We must hurry,” Juliette said, circling around the corpse and running on again.
Captain Brooks, Bogey and Chris had caught up, although Father McGee was still about thirty feet behind; with one look at the elderly priest, Budd was sure he was finished. Surrounded by his billowing, wet robes, the old man tried to continue, his arms and legs flailing from side to side, his feet knocking together. He was clearly exhausted.
Budd looked forward again, desperate to know where they were headed, and how far they had to go. The forerunners of the chasing pack were spilling out of the underground station onto the road.
They were relentless.
Gunfire broke out ahead of them, closer now but still muffled by the fog. Budd thought he saw a least one set of muzzle flashes. He also saw shapes of running figures, off to their left and right, slightly behind, filing out onto the pavements from the alleyways that cut between the buildings.
Three quick handgun shots brought his attention forward again; Captain Brooks had downed a fast-mover, whose body lie on the road, still trying to claw its way towards them.
Another beast reared out of the fog, coming from the darkness at the base of a building to their right. Bogey cut it down with a spray from his MP-5. Budd saw two more of the beasts on their left and he opened fire with his Glock, not stopping until his weapon was out of ammunition and its mechanism clicked impotently. One of the beasts, a woman in a casual suit, was dead on the ground; the other, a young man in a green hospital gown, was limping, a bullet embedded deep in his left thigh.
“I’m out,” Budd yelled.
Bogey finished the job, but already there were others in front of them, charging out from between the buildings, drawn by the sound of gunfire.
Unless we reached somewhere safe very fast, somewhere that could be defended—by others, as I crept out the back—we were gonna become very well-acquainted with the growing number of fast-movers that arrived from between the buildings.
And, looking back at the horde from the underground, I couldn’t see any salvation in that direction either. Right ’bout then, I can honestly tell you, I don’t think “petrified’ was a strong enough word to describe how I felt.
More like “jellified…”
“Fuck it. How long?” Captain Brooks asked into his microphone. His run slowed to a jog and then a brisk walk. Bogey fell in alongside him, his MP-5 tucked into his shoulder as he swept his aim around the foggy streets.
Budd watched as the commander's face distorted as the reply came back over his earpiece.
It didn't look like good news...
Brooks took another ammunition clip and handed it to Budd. “Stick with me.”
“Problem?” Budd asked.
I mean, aside from all the evil monsters trying to eat us...
The small group had come to a halt in the middle of the road, their eyes darting around as they twisted and turned, watching the beasts approaching from all directions, their shapes shrouded in the fog. Budd felt Juliette settle beside him, her hand clutching at his sleeve as he loaded the fresh clip into his Glock. Father McGee caught up to them and staggered to a stop.
“Let’s get fucking moving,” Chris said.
“Yo, Red Top,” Budd said, “what's the matter?”
“They need more time to start the boat. We need a distraction.” Brooks said. He pointed to an alleyway on the right-hand side. “Over there.”
Bogey led the way, his MP-5 at the ready, not quite running now that the way ahead was uncharted, but striding forwards and hunched low, his right eye staring along the barrel of his weapon.
Father McGee and Chris followed the soldier, their tired footsteps much louder than the soldier's trained movements.
Brooks held up his glove-encased left hand to stop Budd from going. “We'll split up,” he said. “They'll slow us down.”
Budd nodded. “Whatever you say.”
Brooks nodded over to an alleyway on the opposite side of the road from where Bogey, Chris and Father McGee had gone. “That way, now.”
Budd looked around.
On the road ahead were a handful of shapes moving in the fog, some coming towards them, others vanishing into the distance, drawn to s
omething out of sight. Behind them, back where they had surfaced from the underground, a wall of fast-movers approached, almost filling the road and pavement, hemmed in by the buildings and flowing towards them like a wave that swept over or around the parked cars and street furniture.
The 400-foot gap would be gone in seconds.
“Go now, Mister Ashby,” Brooks urged.
Budd grabbed Juliette's hand and started to run.
59
The alleyway Brooks had motioned towards was about fifty feet ahead of them, and was one of the few that lined the side of the road that fast-movers weren't spilling out of onto the pavement. The way ahead was clear of obstructions.
The passageway occupied the space between two three-story buildings, with the route fading into the shadows and fog that filled it, obscuring any view of what lay ahead. Even when Budd was at the alley's opening, peering in with his Glock raised and Juliette at his side, he had no clue as to where it would take them.
My boots felt like they were filled with lead. Going into the alley left us with just two choices. To go on, or to go back. And back wasn't an option, not with what was chasing us. So that left just one—forwards.
And who knew what might be coming the other way...
Budd looked over his shoulder at Captain Brooks, who was still back in the center of the road. There were two more of the beasts dead at his feet, surrounded by splashes and pools of blood. One of them convulsed on the ground, the jerky movements flicking gore from the shattered hole in the back of its head. Bits of brain, seared and shredded by the passing bullet, slopped out onto the damp pavement.
Bogey, Chris, and Father McGee had disappeared.
Captain Brooks looked over to Budd and Juliette and then waved at them to continue. He moved after them, but kept turning in a steady circle, his Glock at the ready.
The horde from the underground was still approaching at breakneck speed, devouring the space between them. “Come on, Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said, and she tugged at his arm.
Budd's heavy feet resisted at first, but there was nowhere else to go. He started into the alleyway, fear and adrenaline making his head spin as he stepped into the enclosed space. He eased ahead of Juliette, limiting their pace to a jog.
The brick walls that rose on either side of them were damp with the foggy air. There were no windows or doors on the ground floors of either building, but Budd could see several windows on the floors above. The glass panes glinted white in the gloom.
Budd rounded a pile of black bags filled with trash. A few feet beyond was a corpse, splayed out on the ground in the middle of a dark pool of congealed blood. The body's soft tissue was gone, torn from the bones, the chest cavity ripped open and desecrated. A few fragments of flesh remained on the face, revealing a half-eaten tongue that lashed around inside a prison of teeth. One eye watched Budd and Juliette as they approached, but there was not enough of the body left for the beast to propel itself into motion.
Budd jumped the body and kept going. Juliette released his hand and skirted around it.
Ahead of them, a metal-framed spiral staircase wound up the wall of the building to their right. Budd kept going, conscious of the sound of Brooks firing his handgun.
The time between the shots was getting shorter.
Light appeared at the end of the dark alleyway.
Fifty feet ahead of them, the buildings gave way to another street, a road lined with trees.
Maybe, just maybe...
A man stepped from off the street into the alleyway's opening. Naked and bloody, his face was half-eaten. He had no fingers on his left hand. The stumps were jagged and uneven.
The naked man lurched towards them.
Oh well...
Budd took aim and fired three times.
The naked man's head snapped back as the third bullet perforated his skull and allowed a reddish mist of blood and brain to spray from the gaping exit wound. The gore splashed across the faces of a half-dozen more beasts that had entered alleyway's mouth.
Budd knew he couldn't defeat them all.
They were trapped.
We were dead...
Juliette tugged at his shirt, pulling him back the way they had come. He took a step back to relieve the pressure, then fired three more shots at the nearest beast.
At the back of the group, a small boy, perhaps ten or eleven years old and dressed in a pair of pajamas adorned with a bright green alien, slunk back away from the barrage of fire, vanishing around the corner and back onto the road. He had a handful of bluish organs in his hands.
The others, all adults, including a postman and a nurse in a torn and blood-stained uniform, were oblivious to the threat and charged.
“Up here,” Captain Brooks shouted from back down the alley. He was at the base of the spiral staircase. His feet banged noisily on the steps as he started to climb.
“Go, honey,” Budd said, and he jerked his body away from Juliette, prying his blue shirt from her grasp. He caught her eye from a moment and saw the look of fear on her face.
She ran towards the staircase. “Come on, Monsieur Ashby.”
Budd chased after her, abandoning his efforts with the Glock. Both ends of the alleyway were swarming with the beasts, the thick mass of bodies now unstoppable in their approach.
The air was filled with their eager howls.
Juliette spun at the bottom of the stairs, starting upwards.
Budd was three paces behind her.
The spiral staircase was constructed from steel rods and plates, and was bolted to the brick wall it scaled. Around the outside was a cage-like structure of vertical rods fitted six inches apart. It was study and strong with no way in beside the door at the bottom.
The alleyway rumbled with the footfalls of the fast-movers, the groups converging from both directions, surging for the stairs.
Budd looked for a way to secure the staircase door.
He couldn't see one.
There was no latch, no lock, no way to slow the fast-movers' progress. Budd pushed the door closed, then sat on the bottom step, his back pressed against the central column and his legs locked straight with the soles of his boots against the door.
He took a deep breath.
Don't get me wrong.
I wasn't trying to be a hero.
Heroes get killed, and I had no intention of sacrificing myself for some noble cause. If anyone was gonna to be sunning themselves on a beach drinking Mojitos at the end of this nightmare, I wanted it to be me.
With Juliette.
She'd look great in a bikini.
But as we'd been running for staircase, I had already seen what Brooks would find out when he reached the top. It didn't lead anywhere. We were on a fire escape and, while there were a couple of doors, they wouldn't open from the outside. Otherwise any old Tom, Dick or Harry could wander in off the street.
Sure, we weren't being eaten.
But the best we could do was play for time...
Juliette lurched back around the central column. “Come on, Monsieur Ashby.”
“Find a way out, honey. I won't hold this long.”
“You cannot,” Juliette said, but her sentence trailed away. She ran back up the stairs again, calling for Captain Brooks.
Budd looked out through the metal framework of the door, bracing himself for the coming impact.
The first beast crashed into the pillar beside the door and collapsed backwards, only to be trampled over by the next few to arrive. More of them fell, tripped by the flailing limbs and torsos of those already on the ground.
A mound of writhing bodies started build, obstructing each new arrival.
Hands plunged through the gaps in the rails, wrapping around Budd's pants and boots. Others slipped in from the side, reaching for Budd, trying to drag him to the outer edge where their faces were pushed to the bars, a host of open mouths waiting, snapping and grinding their teeth. A fat, bearded man in a long white shirt and nothing else was pressed so hard that h
is eyes bulged, threatening to explode under the pressure. Saliva cascaded down his hairy chin.
The ambient light of the alleyway was obscured by the number of beasts around the staircase, their bodies blocking the foggy white luminescence. Budd felt himself sinking into the darkness and his mind clogged with the beasts' howls and screams.
Everything else was drowned out.
He squirmed as close to the central column as he could, but still the fingertips brushed his clothes, edging closer. He felt his legs begin to tire, the pressure building beneath his kneecaps as he struggled to keep them locked, to keep the door closed.
It was sheer luck that I'd held it for the handful of seconds I already had.
The pile of bodies on the ground prevented the worst of the pressure falling against the door; most had been diverted to the framework on the side.
But it wouldn't last.
There were hundreds of them; the alleyway was chock-full, and each one was clawing and pushing to reach us. At any point, the pressure would shift and the door would open.
I closed my eyes.
I didn't want to see...
“Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette screamed, her voice cutting through the unintelligible howling that surrounded the staircase. “Use this.”