by Ryan Casey
And then he remembered something else.
Hayden stopped. He tried to help Gary because—because the zombies were coming. Coming through the trees. That’s right: the zombies were coming through the trees and Hayden was desperate, trying to help Gary, trying and trying to get him out of this mess.
And then Gary heard Hayden apologising and before he could ask what for he felt something crack against his face and then …
Blackness.
His heart raced. The muscles in his jaw tightened. That was it. Hayden had screwed him over. Clubbed him to fuckin’ unconsciousness and left him to die out here. Didn’t matter how damned sorry he was or not, he’d screwed him.
He’d pay. He’d fuckin’ pay.
Gary lifted his body upright. The muscles in his stomach were weak and sore. Every twitch of his right leg made the pain shoot right through his body, split through his spine and the top of his skull. Cold sweat rolled down his forehead, dripped down his face. He had to get out of this shit-trap. He had to get to Hayden. He had to—
A rustling in the trees to his left.
He looked up. Looked at where the rustling came from. Branches swaying in the breeze. Fallen leaves. Even further back, the black thickness of evergreen trees looming large.
But nothing moving.
He looked back at his ankle and the handsaw by its side caught his eye.
He recognised the saw. One of the weapons from Riversford. Sharp as fuck, good enough to split through any zombie’s neck or limb.
Or human’s limb …
He reached for the handsaw and lifted it in his quivering hand. An idea formed in his mind. Damned stupid idea, out here in the cold and the middle of nowhere. But an idea nonetheless. A chance of getting out of here.
He pictured pressing the sharp blade of the handsaw to his leg.
Splitting through the top layer of skin.
Slicing through the muscle.
Scraping through the bone …
“Fuck,” Gary said. He lowered the handsaw. Ain’t no chance he was choppin’ his own leg off anytime soon. Sure, that bloke off Saw had survived it enough to spawn six damned sequels, but that was fiction and this was reality.
Chop his leg off and he was done for.
Or … wait. 127 Hours with James Franco. He chopped his leg off and he lived long enough to make it out to safety.
Or was it his arm he chopped off?
Was it real?
Did it even matter?
Gary felt his teeth chattering as he lay there in complete silence. Silence, but for the rustling of the trees in the breeze. The singing of the last remaining birds, oblivious to the chaos around them.
He looked up at the sky, saw still in his hand, and he shouted: “Hello!”
Figured he was an idiot right away. Didn’t want to attract any zombie attention. But maybe there was someone nearby.
There had to be someone nearby.
He couldn’t saw himself out of this.
He had to saw himself out of this …
He felt tears building up. Felt fear mounting in his chest like a child who’d lost their mummy in the middle of a supermarket. He looked back down at his fucked up ankle. And then he looked at the saw. What other choice did he have? What other damned choice had Hayden left him with?
He sunk his teeth into his lips and he moved the blade over his leg. He tried not to think about what he was about to do. Tried not to think about the repercussions. Cause he was a dead man if he stayed here. He’d bleed out. Or the zombies would get him. Or both. And he couldn’t have that. He was a trier. He’d never die without at least trying to do something.
He pressed the blade against his skin and thought about the games of football he used to play in the CityFast yard with his mates on lunch break. The pile-driver shots to the back of the nets, which were marked by the cardigans of his friends—his friends who had fallen, been corrupted, or both.
He swallowed the frog in his throat and pressed down on the leg just above his ankle. He felt the sharpness right away. Felt warm blood trickle down the blade and onto his fingers. He felt the piercing pain of each tooth of the blade stick into his skin, his flesh, and he grit his teeth even further.
He waited. Waited to pull it back and start the slicing. Because once he started, there was no stopping. Once he started, it was all or nothing.
He gritted his teeth.
Pushed the blade down.
Come on. You can do this. You can do this …
Tensed his upper arm, tightened his fingers.
Three. Two. One …
And then his biceps went weak and he dropped the blade from his fingers.
He leaned forward and he cried. He cried for the people he’d lost and the shit they’d been through. But mostly he cried for himself. Because he was a decent bloke. Hadn’t stolen a parcel in his life. Always smiled at grumpy customers and tried to tame the yappiest of dogs.
What had he done to deserve this?
What had he …
He heard the rustling again.
He looked at the source of the sound. His heart pounded. He couldn’t see properly through the cloudy tears in his eyes. His mind wanted to convince him that there was nothing there. He was okay. He was gonna find a way out of here. Cause it wasn’t his turn to die yet. He’d imagined all kinds of ways his life might end, but all of ’em were peacefully in a deathbed aged seventy-something when it was time to go.
But when he saw the thing coming towards him, jet black eyes focused on him, he started to doubt those assurances after all.
He shuffled away. Shuffled away even though it sent splitting pain through his ankle. He whimpered. “Go away. P-please. I don’t mean no harm. Don’t mean no—please!”
He stuck his fingers of his left hand into the soil and tried to yank himself away. He felt the skin and muscle of his right leg splitting as he did, felt warm blood dribble down its side, but still he kept on pulling, just to get away from that … from that thing. That impossible thing.
He felt his bladder give way as the footsteps pounded closer, the grunts and growls edged nearer. His bowels followed soon afterwards. But lying there in his own shit and piss, vomit sneaking up from his stomach, he kept on pulling at the sharp teeth of the trap, scraping his skin and muscle away, hot pain splitting through him, desperate not to die, convinced this wasn’t his moment.
When he felt the sharp pain split through the back of his left leg with the force of a million damned animal traps; when he felt the beast rip the muscle away and felt the blood dribble from its satisfied mouth and onto his body, he knew right then that this was in fact it. This was the moment he went. This was his swan song.
He started to drift into agonising unconsciousness when the beast came in for another bite of his lower back with its knifelike teeth, and this cycle repeated itself on and on and on for what felt like forever to Gary, who didn’t even have it left in him to scream.
And when he thought it was over, when he was convinced it was done, full, satisfied, he lifted his weak head and he saw more movement coming his way.
A lion cub, coming to join the feast.
Eighteen
The winding dirt track was long and spiralled on for miles, and Hayden felt like eyes were watching him every inch of the way.
Invisible eyes peeking through the trees. Rustling movement. Growling.
“Is it just me or is this place completely and utterly … well, off?” he asked.
Holly sat by Hayden’s side, Sarah now manoeuvring the golf buggy. He’d had difficulty steering it. Always had been shit when it came to vehicles. First realised that back at the dodgems at Blackpool Pleasure Beach many a year ago.
She smiled. “It’s empty and you’re complaining about it seeming ‘off’. Trust really isn’t your strong point, is it?”
“If you’d seen the things I’ve seen, it wouldn’t be yours either.” He diverted his gaze away from Holly. He didn’t want her to catch him looking at her with accu
sation and curiosity. He didn’t want her to see the glimmer of truth in his eyes—the truth of what he’d done to Gary. Leaving him behind, unconscious, to die in the way he had.
“He was hardly the most trustful bloke before he saw the shit he talks about,” Sarah said, steering the vehicle around a sharp curve in the road.
“Oh yeah?” Holly laughed. “How did you guys meet anyway?”
“Hayden here was—”
“That’s a story for another time,” Hayden interjected. He felt his cheeks heating up at the memory of being stood at the side of his old road. The desperation and the fear inside him as Sarah shouted at him to get into the back of the van. He thought about how hopeless he’d felt, how hopeless he must’ve looked. It wasn’t an image he wanted Holly to see, not right now. “How far d’you think ’til we hit the roads again anyway?”
Sarah took another turn. “Your guess is as good as mine. Tell you what, this place is weird. The fuck’s that thing there?”
Hayden looked where she was pointing. Some kind of cabin beside a lake. The lake looked artificial, like it had been dug up recently. Behind it, a tall, sturdy-looking metal fence to keep whatever was on the other side out of here.
“Some kind of new development?” Holly asked.
Hayden thought back to the state of the bodies he’d seen recently. To the hole torn in the side of the fence near where they found the buggy. And of the traps. Why would there be traps in the woods? What was so dangerous that it required capturing?
“I know something happened. Back there. With—with Gary.”
The words from the left made Hayden’s face turn cold. He looked to his side. Saw Holly with her head down. She was holding her dry hands together, fumbling and scratching at them.
“What … I don’t …”
“I can see that look on your face,” Holly whispered. “I can see that look because I’ve had that look on my face before, too. You changed when you walked out of those woods. Something on your face. You can tell me. If there’s … if you have a secret, you can tell me.”
Hayden’s mouth dried out completely. He looked at Sarah, who fast shifted her gaze away like she was pretending not to look. Hayden cleared his throat. He couldn’t be the one in the spotlight here. “Stuck in a golf buggy with a woman who claims she’s been bitten and hasn’t turned, and also claims she knows a safe place in Holyhead. And I’m the one who’s being scrutinised?”
“Hey,” Holly said. “We had this discussion. We’ve talked about honesty and trust and—”
Sarah coughed.
“And I’m allowed my reservations, like you said,” Hayden said. “I just don’t agree with you tearing apart my—”
“I’m not tearing a thing apart. I’m simply—”
Sarah coughed.
“I know what you’re trying to—”
And then the golf buggy veered off the dirt track.
When Hayden realised what was happening, it was already too late.
He looked at Sarah as the golf buggy veered towards the trees. She was lying with her head on the steering wheel. Her arms had gone limp and her eyes were closed.
Blood oozed from her nostrils.
Hayden lunged for the steering wheel but before he could reach it, he heard the metal buggy crack and his body flew out of the side of the vehicle.
He crashed into the muddy ground. Tumbled and tumbled on his side, branches scratching his cheeks, the taste of blood building up in his mouth. He tried to stop his roll but it was pointless. He was going too fast. Speeding down the hill towards a stream. If he didn’t stop soon, his head would crack on the rocks and it would be over, everything would be over.
He stuck his fingers into the mud. Felt it slip away under his grip. He had no idea where Holly or Sarah were but he could hear movement, feel their eyes on him.
He stuck his fingers into the ground again, shifted all his weight into the earth.
With a finger-snapping jolt, he stopped.
He caught his breath. The sounds of the trees rustling in the wind surrounded him. The taste of blood was strong now. His ears rang like a gun had fired either side of them.
He closed his eyes, squeezed them together, tried to balance himself.
Then he remembered: Sarah.
The look on her face. Blood dripping down from her nose. The cough. And then the unconsciousness.
And then he remembered little Tim. Little Tim, who didn’t have a sign of a bite wound on his body, and went on to pass the virus to his mum.
The panic on Sarah’s face when she’d first found Tim’s body. The blood on her hands.
Matt’s words etched in blood: KAREN NOT BIT HES AIRBOURNE TIM AIR—
He eased his tender body around in the direction of the rustling, the movement, and he saw it.
A zombie wearing a bloodied blue uniform just like the man who had been butchered back where they’d found the golf buggy.
It was marching in Hayden’s direction. Reaching its long, sharp fingers out, the bones peeking through the gnawed-down tips.
Hayden tensed his body. Tried to lift himself up, but his ribs stung, his head ached.
The zombie ran. Ten metres away. Nine metres. Soon, it’d be upon him. He’d be a goner. It’d be over. It’d—
Something shifted in the right of his vision.
It happened in a blur. A dreamlike blur that Hayden couldn’t comprehend—and probably never would.
Something jumped out and landed on the zombie.
Something big. Golden.
An animal.
It knocked the zombie to the ground. Hayden heard its neck crunch as the beast’s paw pressed into it. He saw the saliva dribble from the corners of the beast’s mouth, saw it go in to bite the zombie with its piercing sharp teeth.
And then he saw it turn away. Grunt in dissatisfaction, like Hayden might if he smelled some off milk.
It lifted its head—its huge, gorgeous head—and only then did Hayden truly understand what he was looking at.
It was the undeniable face of a lion. A lion with a beautiful golden mane. Through its fur, Hayden could see its ribs.
The lion looked at Hayden with its big, brown eyes.
Stared at him. Sniffed the air.
“Holy shit.” Holly’s voice from somewhere behind. “Is that …”
Hayden didn’t hear the rest of what Holly had to say.
Blood-laced drool dripped from the hungry lion’s mouth.
The beast stepped towards him.
Nineteen
The last time Hayden stared a lion in the eye was when he was back in high school on a school trip to Knowsley Safari Park. He remembered his coach driving past the crowd of three, four lions, all lying down, all looking back at him. He remembered the fear he felt. The realisation that, if they wanted to, those beasts could wander over to the school coach and butcher everyone inside. Every last one of them.
Except that day, he remembered the tour guide insisting the lions were well fed. That they weren’t hungry. And that they were actually rather timid of vehicles.
Today, over a decade later, Hayden wasn’t guarded by the protection of a vehicle.
He wasn’t trapped behind glass, observing from a distance.
And the lion didn’t look well-fed.
He wanted to move away. Wanted to drag himself up the grassy ridge, back towards the dirt track. But as he stared at this lion—saw its ribs poking out of its matted fur, saw blood from the creature dripping down its mane—all he could do was stay put. Stare into its eyes. Stare into its eyes and hope to God it turned the fuck away.
Because if it didn’t, he was screwed.
He was dead.
He thought back to the man they’d found in the woods. The way his body had been torn apart. The blue uniform he’d been wearing, and it all just clicked. The buggy. This was a safari park. Some kind of safari park.
And it was filled with a bucketload of starving animals.
The lion grunted as it stared at H
ayden. Breathed heavily. Beautiful but terrifying, no doubt about that. And lying in the mud, staring at this lion, it felt like every other single sense evaded Hayden. A sense of where he was. Of who was around him. Of what he was going to do.
All he knew was that he had to get away.
He had to get away from this lion.
Somehow, he had to get away.
He heard a wince. Heard movement behind him to his right.
And a cough.
The lion turned. Looked in the direction of the cough, too.
Sarah.
Shit. Sarah. Regaining consciousness. She couldn’t make a sound. Not now. Not—
The lion put one foot in front of the other, started to move.
Hayden’s insides turned to mush. He knew right then that he had to move. That there was nothing else he could do. No way he could just stay put, no way he could hope the lion would turn away, disappear into the woods.
He had to run.
He had to get to Sarah, to Holly—wherever the hell she’d gone.
He had to get away.
He took a deep breath of the cool air, a smell of decomposition lingering.
He felt a trickle of sweat roll down his forehead.
You can do this, Hayden.
You can fucking do this.
He waited until the lion made another step. Another step towards Sarah, another step up the hill.
Then he turned around and he ran.
He didn’t look back as he clambered up the hill, splashing around in the mud, trying to keep his balance. He just powered on. Saw Sarah. Saw her lying on the dirt beside the broken remains of the buggy. Holly was nowhere to be seen. She’d done a runner. Fuck. She could’ve helped but she’d done some kind of runner. He knew she wasn’t to be trusted. Knew he had to keep an eye on her.
But shit.
He had other things to worry about right now.
He stuck his fingers in the mud and dragged himself up the side of the hill. His feet slipped with every step, and behind him he could hear the lion growling, hear its huge paws patting through the mud.