by Luke Kondor
“Lee!”
“Chic?” he said uncertainly, paying no attention to Dutchman as his uncle took a few steps back and then charged once more at the wall. Even in the shadowed gloom, they saw the wall beginning to gleam as blood painted its surface. Lee sobbed. “C’mon, Uncle. It’s me… fight it.”
Chicory turned then… or rather, the thing that was taking hold turned, twisting and contorting Chicory’s features to something almost beyond recognition. Like a horror-flick bulldog with eyes leaking blood. The internal battle still fought, but a clear victor was already chosen as Chicory took a laboured step towards Lee, slashed at the air with a hand, then grasped his head and shook violently. A moment later he took another step.
Lee raised his bat uncertainly as if maybe he hadn’t enough experience to stand before the stumps in the Ashes. Chicory slashed again, bent his legs, then ran, and dived through the air. Lee was too slow to move, watching in slow motion as the mutated face of his uncle flew at him, white tendrils flailing in the air, seeking to bond with a secondary host and join them together. The rot’s primary survival method. To latch and bond and spread like wildfire.
Just as Lee felt he’d missed his moment to swing, a heavy weight crashed into his side, and he found himself on the floor. He half-saw as Chicory’s body dived through the air, crashing to the ground, leaving a line where his body cleaned the dust and grime. A second later Dutchman lifted Lee off the floor, tugged him by the arm, and began running. “I swears to God. Bloody English peoples.”
They all ran, then. Ria waited at the door for the last of her people, with even Joanna and Sunny free from their bonds as they all headed towards the entrance that Ria had been so desperate to keep locked not too long ago. Behind them, Chicory’s fading battle with the rot as he growled and grunted and slid across the floor. Dutchman spared one look at the monster that Chicory had become, before spurring himself and the others on.
They were all breathless, yet fuelled by fear.
This was a defeat. Not a small one, either. There was a genuine belief that the rot had truly died, that it had lived its time and faded to the ether beyond. But as the sounds of the old man they had come to know as family echoed all around, many of the Hopefuls found themselves thrown back to a time in years gone when this was a regular occurrence. Their one chance of survival to run away, or take the thing down in flames.
Dutchman was the last to leave the factory, and as he ran, not once did it cross his mind to close the door behind him. All he could think about was the screams.
The screams of a dying man taking new shape.
The screeches and clicks of a rotter.
“Get your asses in gear!” Ria screamed, holding open the door of the nearest vehicle. She waved them furiously, ushering Joanna and Sunny into the car. Dutchman doubled down and sprinted as he heard the rotter enter into the chill dawn air. Lee was just a few feet ahead and made the mistake of turning to see how close the rotter was getting, spinning on the spot and freezing from fear. Dutchman overtook Lee, only just realising the boy had slowed when he had made it to the car and he heard him shout.
“Let go of him!” Dutchman turned to watch the boy, feet firmly planted, standing his ground, bat held high. The rotter slowed as it approached, drawing up to its full height as tendrils waved like seaweed beneath rolling waves. “Chic, if you’re in there, fight it. Tear it open, destroy it, fight it now,” the words faltering. His confident shout wavering to blubbers as tears fell from Lee’s eyes. The rotter looked at Lee through Chicory’s eyes, tilting its head to one side and released a series of haunting clicks from somewhere on its twisted body. “Please…”
A single strand came forth from somewhere on the rotter, rising and creeping through the air as a snake in the jungle might leap from branch to branch. Those in the car could do nothing but watch in fascination as Lee’s head followed the strand, hypnotised and desperate to remain with his uncle. It hovered about in front of Lee’s face for a moment, then darted straight down his throat. The part attached to Chicory snapped off and disappeared into Lee’s body, who immediately began thrashing himself.
Dutchman felt an arm on his shoulder dragging him backwards. The next moment he was in the car, watching as the Chicory rotter walked past Lee as if nothing had happened, leaving him to shake, and beat himself, and clutch his head as the change began.
“We need to go,” Dutchman tried, but all that came out was a whisper. When Chicory began to pick up pace, it turned into a desperate scream, “Go… Go!”
Ria yanked the key in the ignition. The car jumped, jolted, the lights came on in a flash… then died.
“No, no, no, no!” she shouted, desperately yanking the key again and hammering the accelerator. The car jumped several feet forward then died once more.
The rotter was only a few metres away now, screeching and clicking, a haunting sight, now slick with rain. Behind them both, at the entrance of the factory, Dutchman just had time to register several more tiny black lumps of matter – those that popped from the cluster – creeping out of the doorway, slithering along the grass at a steady pace.
Dear God, what haves we done?
Chicory bent low, ready to leap at the car, tendrils splayed and ready for action, when there came a shout from behind them, and a dark shape crashed through the bushes.
They turned as one, as the darkness was erased by an explosion of fire.
~ 32 ~
He saw nothing but flames ahead. His hands grew hot as his skin blistered, but he was not ready to let up. Not yet.
The rotter screeched, an unholy sound that cut over the roar of the flames and the hushing of the rain on the canopy around them. There were voices too. Shouting and crying out into the night as the overwhelming heat burst forth.
“Get down!” he heard one of them roar.
“Shit!” A woman screamed.
He held his finger tight on the trigger and walked forwards. A golden arch of fire before him. The first rotter erupted into a column of screaming, clicking, yellow and red. A second one, hidden behind. It was the kid, no doubt. The poor fool who’d followed orders and watched Colin with stern eyes and a cricket bat, now melting and reducing down to a pile of ash.
Hot tears burned Colin’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure if that was from the heat of the flames or genuine sorrow from what he was being forced to do. He’d hardly known those two, the old man and the boy, yet in the light of everything that had happened that night, he couldn’t have flamed any one of the Hopefuls without feeling at least something.
His eyes were hurting now, his finger aching. Yet Colin only found himself stopping when the searing pain came around his fourth finger on his left hand. The little golden ring taking place where it hadn’t for years, now conducting the heat and concentrating it in a searing hoop around his digit.
He grunted, released the trigger, and threw the flamethrower on the ground. The intense light that had burst forth in front had now left nothing but fizzy whites in his vision. He pawed stupidly at his eyes for a couple seconds as the chaos turned to silence. The rain whispering sweet shushes as it extinguished any last traces of embers or flames. On a drier day, perhaps the entire wood may have lit up, catching the flames with a greedy hunger until all that was left was ash. But that wasn’t the case. And even as Colin’s sight began to adjust to the strange dawn gloom, the rain was working its magic on the ashes of the two rotters, spreading the powder into the soil, and trickling it away.
Colin eventually looked back at the car and found that every Hopeful had the same expression on their face. A wash of disbelief as the rain pattered down, mouths open, a look of mournful respect at their fallen comrades. Even Sunny, who had his head on Joanna’s bosom as she stroked his head, seemed to be registering what they had just seen. Colin thought of the first time he met Ria, a shotgun inches from his face. There’s a knack to starting this old piece of shit, she’d said when the car had struggled to start. Boy, was she right…
At the last, D
utchman turned and looked at Colin. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, before Dutchman gave a slight nod of the head, and looked down to see the machete hanging off Colin’s waist. He looked back up, and in that moment Colin knew that Dutchman understood.
Stephen, the boy, the old man, David… and Wheat… they weren’t coming back.
But they were all on the same side now.
~ IV ~
Old industrial warehouses towered over either side of them. Once towers of industry, now just shells converted into flats and eateries – most abandoned in the chaos. The three wandered down the road like they were hiking into the great split of a canyon. They had given up on running, finding the activity on the streets now dying down. Rachel always a couple steps behind. Her deep breaths in Colin’s ears. He had placed Fletcher down to walk not long ago, feeling his arms beginning to shake from the strain. The waves of the Thames were still whirring away in their ears but they couldn’t see it anymore. It was hidden by the old buildings on either side. The gulls, too, normally flying and cawing overhead, were non-existent. Even they’d abandoned ship.
The smell of wet rust and mouldering wood filled Colin’s nostrils. Broken glass cracked and popped beneath his shoes as they walked past an old pub.
THE CAPTAIN’S ALE. EST. 1787.
Colin peered inside but it was too dark. There were no streetlights to help either. It was as though somebody somewhere flicked the city mains switch off with a single ‘click’. He turned, looked up at the windows in the converted apartments for signs of life but saw none. The street was shut off. Closed for business.
Up ahead, just at the intersection where the street split left, were single beams of torchlight cutting through the rain. They reflected and bounced off the wet puddles along the floor. Hidden within the glare came the faint sounds of hurried voices.
Colin squeezed Fletcher’s hand and turned to check on Rachel. Though her face was tired, and her hair was thin and dark from the rain, she was keeping up. Colin noted that she was handling it all surprisingly well. She was always a trooper, but this was something else. Keeping quiet and following without complaint, even with both hands on the lower curve of her belly, supporting their unborn child in any way she could.
Colin caught her eye and nodded ahead to where the voices were growing louder.
“Are you sure this is safe?” she asked.
Colin gave a half-smile and continued walking. He didn’t really have much of an answer, anyway. What were their options? What else were they supposed to do? Where else could they go? With any luck, they might find someone who’ll be able to tell them what was going on. Better yet, give them a ride.
Out of habit, he fished his phone out from his jean’s pocket. The signal was still zero.
“Your phone still down?” he said to Rachel.
She checked and nodded.
When they reached the corner, Colin nudged Fletcher behind his leg and waited for Rachel to catch up. He leant around the corner of the building and snuck a quick peak.
About halfway down the street was a barricade of five orange cones spaced evenly across the road. On either side, where the path fell to the tarmac, were white police cars, parked at odd angles. And in front of those were five tall men with dark objects at their side. Without a doubt they were firearms. Out of the five policemen, one had stepped out of line and was currently engaged in a conversation with a European couple in their mid-twenties.
“Police,” Colin whispered, turning to Rachel with his back against the wall. “They’ll know what’s happening. Come on.”
“Wait…” Rachel began to say, but Colin had already stepped out and walked towards the gathering. Rachel grabbed Fletcher’s hand and reluctantly followed.
“Please, let us through,” they heard the European woman say as they came closer. “We just want to get home.”
“Come on, man! We’re soaked and freezing to death. We literally live right there, come on. You have to let us pass!”
Colin turned and caught Rachel’s eyes, a silent message expressed between them. Colin half-shrugged as if to say, Too late to turn around now.
“Look, we appreciate you’re scared. But our orders are clear, you have to stay back. We cannot let anyone pass through.” The policeman spoke like it was just another day of crowd control, like he was some parking attendant explaining why he just had to write a ticket because: ‘Thems the rules’. “We will relay any and all information as it comes to us, but please remain here until directed otherwise.”
The European guy, who Colin saw then was well-dressed in a shirt, tie and trousers, grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her away from the policemen. “Screw them, Lucza. We’ll find another way around.”
“Every street is covered and blocked in a five-mile radius, sir. Until we determine the cause of tonight’s events, you will not be leaving this area.”
Colin stepped forward then, as the girl screamed into her hand in frustration, her eyes brimming with tears. She saw Colin. He raised his hand as if to say, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort it,’ before walking between them and the police.
He stopped when he was only a few feet away, incredibly aware that each officer shifted and gripped their guns tighter as he approached.
“Please,” Colin proffered to the man, “you’ve got to understand. I have my son here, and my wife is pregnant – nearly seven months in. Can’t you just let us, and these guys through? We’ll be no trouble. You’ll hear nothing from us. We’ll just head to our flats around the corner and wait it out. One of your guys could even accompany us.”
The policeman was already shaking his head. “Sir—”
Colin didn’t even wait. “Do you have a family, sir? Do you have people you love? People that depend on you to help them when life throws a shit-covered curveball, mate?” He was whispering now, specks of spit flying from his mouth. “Because I’ve got two terrified people there that I would give the world for. And all we’re asking is to go an extra hundred metres or so on our travels.” The officer looked at him blankly. “What’s your na—
“Sir!” the policeman said at last. “Back away. That is a command. The city is in the process of being quarantined, there are no exceptions to the rule. You are not permitted to leave this zone.”
“Quarantine?” The European girl said. “What is…?”
“Well, how about just them?” Colin said in a flash of emotion, pointing to Fletcher and Rachel. “How about you just let them through, and keep me here? You could say you were just doing your job, but I distracted you. That they slipped past, or even that you never saw them. Who’s going to know the difference? Just let them go through. Just them. I’ll stay. It’s not safe out here. You know it isn’t. And they’re going to freeze to death out here. Never mind whatever the fuck is happening by the river.”
For the first time, the officer looked him straight in the eyes. Colin couldn’t quite read what was going on in his mind, but he saw something soften. Maybe, Colin thought, seeing a vision of Rachel and Fletcher running past the cops to safety, maybe that’s enough?
The cop’s shoulders relaxed and he turned around to the others. One of the officers nodded, and pinched at a small radio unit on his chest and spoke in a low voice. A few seconds later, the cop nodded again.
“What’s going on?” Colin turned back to the policeman. “What’s happening?”
“Okay, look.” The policeman said, taking a hand off his gun. “We’ve managed to get a small vehicle on its way. We’ll look to take you guys off the streets and get you into a proper quarantine zone and we’ll get you tested.”
Tested? Tested for what? Colin wondered as he exhaled and saw hope on the faces of his family and the couple.
But then something moved at the end of the street, back the way they had come. Movements in the dark. He heard the telltale sign of five policemen raising their guns and clicking the safety off as a group of people appeared around the corner, running straight towards them.
“Shit!�
� Colin said muttered. “Shit shit shit.” He ran back to Fletcher and Rachel, grabbing his son’s hand, pulling them over to the barricade, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the policemen would let them hide behind the cars. It seemed the young couple had the same idea, as the well-dressed guy ran at the cops on the other side of the road.
The officer closest to him swung the butt of his gun into the poor guy’s face, knocking him to the floor.
Colin turned to his own side of the road and felt his heart sink as he saw that one of the cops had a gun aimed at his chest.
“Please…”
“Sir, stand back.”
“No,” Colin said, standing firm. Behind them, he heard the sounds of footsteps scrambling as well as grunts and puffs and screams as the mob approached. Fletcher whimpered as he clutched Colin’s leg. He turned to see their panicked faces. A man in a pink jumper led the procession. His face a picture of fear.
“Help!” the man shouted through gasping breaths. “Help!”
“Stop!” The policeman that had first spoken to Colin shouted, his ashen face now lit by the moonlight. “Stop running or we will be forced to shoot, that is your first warning.”
“Let us get behind you!” Colin said but was quickly shoved back by the cop pointing the gun his way.
The din of the oncoming crowd grew louder. It echoed and bounced throughout the valley, pinging back and forth between the high buildings on either side. Somewhere a baby cried.
“Dad?” Fletcher said.
“Don’t worry, son.”
Colin took a step back.
“Stop! This is your final warning!” the commanding policeman shouted again.
A shout. A gunshot. Loud. It powered through the streets. Colin heard the sound of flesh smacking into the ground and saw the man in the pink jumper as he went limp and rolled over himself like he was some sort of crash test dummy, made of plastic and stuffed with loose meat.
It didn’t faze the others, though, as body after body surged forwards. They were almost at the cars now, the straight composure of the policemen beginning to dissolve as they locked their legs to embrace the wave, and increased the amount of bullets flying from their guns.