Infection Z 3

by Ryan Casey

  He imagined its teeth. Imagined it opening its cavernous mouth and closing in on Hayden. Ripping him to shreds, just like it had the man they found in the woods; just like it had all those other bodies they’d found in the woods.

  He kept on running.

  Still alive.

  Still staring at Sarah, who looked out of it, grimacing in pain. Her arm looked dislocated, snapped out of its socket. Blood dripped from her nostrils.

  But she was alive.

  Just like Hayden, she was alive.

  He heard the lion roar and he tasted sick at the back of his throat, felt his stomach rise into his chest, his heart pounding and pounding and pounding. But on he went. On he crawled through the mud. On he climbed towards Sarah. Because that’s what he had to do—climb. Climb through the mud, one step at a time.

  Deep breaths.

  Keep his cool.

  Keep his—

  “Hey!”

  He heard the voice above. Over to his left.

  A familiar voice.

  Holly’s voice.

  Hayden chanced a look and saw that Holly was holding a gun. Pointing it shakily at the lion. Fear all over her face.

  But she was standing her ground.

  Standing her ground as Hayden got closer to Sarah.

  Got closer to helping her. Closer to saving her.

  He didn’t look over his shoulder. Couldn’t let himself. Because he could tell from the fear on Holly’s face that the lion was close. That it was still chasing him. That—

  He felt his boot slip.

  Felt the soft muddy ground give way underneath him.

  And he fell face flat into the soil.

  He scrambled to pull himself up as mud filled his eyes, as the bitter earthy taste engulfed his mouth. This was it. This was the moment the lion caught up with him. The moment this surreal fucking turn of events came to a conclusion. The moment it tore him apart—tore Sarah apart and put an end to both of them, piece by piece.

  Holly had to fire the gun.

  He didn’t want to see a lion harmed, always stood against animal cruelty, but she just had to fire the gun.

  He dragged himself up. Saw Holly still standing there, frozen. Still pointing the weapon. Sarah just a couple of metres away.

  “Fire it!” Hayden shouted.

  But she didn’t.

  Holly just kept standing there. Frozen. Rigid. Hands shaking.

  The rest of the weapons lying in the rucksack beside the overturned buddy.

  Hayden rushed over to Sarah. Wrapped his arms around her and tried to lift her. She squealed when he pushed against her right side—when he hurt her dislocated shoulder.

  “You—you have to get up,” Hayden said. “I’m sorry but you have to get up—”

  A force.

  A force slamming into Hayden’s back.

  Smacking him deep into the mud, covering him with darkness.

  Pressing down.

  Pressing down hard.

  He knew what it was. He knew what it was and he couldn’t feel hard done by. Because he’d left Gary behind. He’d knocked Gary out and left him to die in the woods. Didn’t matter if he’d made him unconscious. Didn’t matter at all. All that mattered was he’d played God with someone else’s life. He’d betrayed a companion.

  And now he was going to pay for it.

  Piece by agonising piece.

  He searched the damp grass for something, anything.

  Searched it for a rock. For something to hit the lion with. Something to bat it off.

  Felt its sharp, uncut claws dig into his shoulder.

  Its hot breath and slimy drool dripping all over his neck.

  Its growl loud in his ears.

  He searched.

  Searched some more.

  Then he felt something.

  Felt something—the bag. The zip of the rucksack. The weapons rucksack.

  He stuffed his fingers inside it, stuffed them in as far as he could stretch, as far as he could reach.

  Desperate.

  Determined.

  And then he felt the tip of something sharp.

  Felt the tip of something sharp nick his fingertips.

  Grabbed it, as the lion pressed down harder, as its mane brushed against his neck.

  Spun it around.

  And swung it in the lion’s direction as hard as he could.

  He wasn’t sure he’d had much success. Not at first. Because the lion was still pressing him down. Still holding him. Still breathing its rancid breath all over him.

  And then he heard a whimper.

  He heard a whimper and he felt hot blood and he pulled the blade away and stabbed it again.

  Stabbed it and felt guilt, felt nothing but immeasurable guilt for what he was doing, as the lion cried, struggled.

  Stabbed it and felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he fought off the hungry beast. The beast that was just trying to do the same as everyone else in this world—survive.

  He stabbed it a third time and this time, the lion pulled away.

  The weight shifted from Hayden’s body.

  He turned over. Rolled over, every inch of his body feeling infinitely lighter.

  He scurried back. Sat beside Sarah. Looked back at the lion.

  He expected it to be dying. To be toppled over onto its side. To be looking up at Hayden with fear. With confusion.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was bleeding. Bleeding just between its ribs.

  But it was standing.

  It was alive.

  It looked Hayden in his eyes, looked at him just as it had before, and then it turned away.

  Turned away and limped off into the woods.

  Into whatever fate awaited it.

  Hayden put a hand around Sarah’s back. Heart still racing. Adrenaline so rich it made him want to puke. The smell of sweat strong.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s … let’s get you up.”

  “Guys,” Holly said. “I … I’d hurry. If I were you. I’d hurry.”

  It was then that Hayden heard the growl.

  Heard the muffled cries.

  He turned and looked into the woods, looked between the branches where the lion had disappeared.

  Saw it on its side.

  Saw a mass of zombies surrounding it.

  Sticking their teeth inside it.

  Ripping its beautiful golden fur away.

  He felt his eyes sting with tears. Felt guilt. Felt shame for what he’d had to do. For the only thing he’d been able to do to survive.

  But that guilt was short-lived.

  That sadness was short-lived.

  Because he heard another growl behind him, behind Holly.

  Turned and saw a lioness standing in the middle of the dirt track.

  Staring down at her king being torn to shreds.

  Staring at Holly, at Sarah, at Hayden.

  Growling.

  Twenty

  “Shoot, Holly. Just—just shoot.”

  Hayden didn’t know what else to say. What else to suggest to Holly as the lioness approached her, crept up to her.

  Behind him, at the bottom of the hill, the lion whimpered as the infected tore it apart.

  And the lioness watched every bit of it.

  But Holly’s eyes were filling up. Hayden could see it from this far away, the partly conscious Sarah by his side. He could see the guilt in her eyes as she held onto the gun. As her hands shook.

  He could see her love for this lioness.

  That killing it was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “I know it’s hard,” Hayden called, the sound of zombies ripping open the lion’s belly splitting through the air. The stench of death strong, pertinent. “I know it’s hard but you’ve just gotta—”

  “I can’t. I—”

  “You have to,” Hayden shouted. “You just … you just have to.”

  He watched the lioness step closer to Holly.

  Watched it move closer, closer, all the while the z
ombies behind chewed up the poor lion, their attention destined to shift to Hayden, to Sarah in no time …

  “You have to—”

  “I’m sorry,” Holly said.

  She lifted the gun.

  Pointed it at the lioness.

  And she pulled the trigger.

  There was no explosion of blood from the lioness. No pained scream. No sudden anguished thud as its beautiful body fell to the ground.

  Instead, the lion jumped aside.

  Jumped away from Holly, fear in its eyes. Backing off. Stepping away.

  “That’s it,” Hayden said, attempting to lift Sarah up, move towards Holly. “That’s—that’s it. Keep on—”

  Holly fired again.

  A bullet rattled into the grass, just in front of the dirt track.

  The lioness moaned. Curled up its face and growled.

  But still, as Holly pointed her gun at it, it backed away.

  Backed away from Holly.

  Backed away from the group.

  Backed away from …

  It was then that Hayden heard the gasps behind him. That he heard the footsteps sloshing up the mud.

  That he smelled the eye-watering stench of decay edging closer.

  He turned. Didn’t have to, but did anyway, just to see, just to know for certain.

  “Shit,” he said.

  The crowd of zombies were rushing away from the emaciated corpse of the lion.

  Staggering up the muddy hill.

  Surging towards Hayden, Sarah, Holly.

  “Better get the hell back on the dirt track,” Holly said. “Grab—grab a gun. Grab whatever you can then …”

  She turned back to the lioness. Lifted her gun. Tilted her head forward in a sudden movement; a movement that made the lioness cower back, frightful of another blast. Under control.

  For now.

  Hayden rushed over to the weapons bag beside him. Grabbed two pistols, handed one to Sarah.

  “You okay?”

  She clung to her dislocated shoulder. Bit down on her lip. Nodded sharply—a nod that told Hayden in no uncertain terms that no, she wasn’t okay. She was far from okay.

  But she grabbed hold of the gun.

  Stepped to her feet, slowly.

  Bloodstains above her top lip. Clotting around her nostrils.

  Sarah wasn’t okay.

  But for now, she was alive.

  She was alive, and that was all that counted.

  The pair of them moved up to the side of the dirt track, up the slippery mud and to Holly. Holly was still walking towards the lioness, gun raised. Still standing tall. Finger on the trigger. Ready to shoot at any given moment.

  The lioness was backing away.

  Looking at all of them—at Hayden, Sarah, Holly—and backing away.

  Behind, the gasps of the zombies grew louder.

  “Need to find a way out of here somehow,” Hayden said.

  “Up the dirt track,” Holly said. “On the left.”

  She didn’t turn. Didn’t point.

  Just kept her aim on the lioness.

  Kept on stepping towards it.

  Staring into its eyes.

  Hayden frowned. Looked down the road. “What’s—”

  “There’s a building down there. Through the trees. You see it?”

  Hayden didn’t want to look away from the lioness. Managed to chance a glance—just the briefest of glances.

  Then he saw it.

  Saw the building.

  The grey brick designed to look like some unearthed rock.

  Reptile’s Domain.

  His stomach turned. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “Not sure I like the sound of those infected coming our way,” Holly said. “Or this lioness’ growling.”

  “How’re—how’re we supposed to make it there?” Sarah said.

  Holly kept her gun pointed at the lioness.

  Kept on looking it, staring it in the eye.

  Then, “You run,” she said. “I’ll … I’ll hold off what I can.”

  Hayden’s muscles tightened. “You—you can’t just—”

  “One of us has to.”

  “But you’ve been bitten. You’ve … you’ve been bitten and you’re alive. Which means we need you. Which means we—”

  Hayden didn’t get to finish.

  He didn’t get to finish because the lioness suddenly stopped.

  Lifted its head.

  Leaped at Holly.

  Hayden watched it move through the air in slow motion. Watched its gorgeous fur contrast with the greying sky. Watched it move by in front of him, the sounds of the zombies drifting away, the smells of decay disappearing, nothing else mattering but the lioness, nothing else mattering but its beautiful form flying through the air at Holly.

  Hayden started to lift his gun.

  Started to aim.

  Started to squeeze his trigger.

  But he didn’t have to.

  Blood spurted out of the head of the lioness.

  Its paws flailed in the air, its jump losing shape, its progression losing momentum.

  Holly rolled out the way as the lioness landed in the mud, splattered down on the soft ground.

  As its still, silent, peaceful body slid down the muddy hill towards the oncoming zombies.

  The eternally hungry zombies.

  Holly wiped her eyes. The pistol in her hand shook. She looked back at the lioness. Looked back at it as the zombies surrounded it. As they kneeled beside it. As they stuck their sharp fingers into its fur and ripped it open, just like they had the lion, just like they would with everything living—once living—on this earth.

  Hayden and Sarah walked up to Holly.

  Walked up to her as she stood there, tears rolling down her cheeks, staring back at the poor lioness as the rain started to fall.

  “You did what you had to do,” Hayden said.

  He put a hand on her back.

  Patted her.

  “You saved us.”

  Then he walked past Holly. Walked up onto the dirt track. Walked with Sarah, back onto the road. The road they had to get off. The place they had to get out of.

  For they had to push on to Holyhead.

  They had to keep on moving.

  “Come on,” Hayden said. “We’d better move.”

  Holly stood there a few more seconds.

  Stood there and stared at the feast. Stared at the mangled, bony hands stuffed inside the lioness’ innards. At the lion in the distance, its mane covered in rich, red blood.

  She stared at it and she didn’t say a word, transfixed, grief-stricken.

  Then, she turned.

  Turned around and followed Hayden, followed Sarah.

  And when she glanced into Hayden’s eyes, Hayden wanted her to see the way he looked at her.

  With belief.

  With trust.

  Because she’d put her life on the line.

  She’d put her life on the line and done the only thing she could do to keep the group alive.

  She stepped onto the dirt track.

  Stood beside Sarah.

  Looked back at Hayden.

  She’d earned her place.

  Earned a right to walk with them.

  Earned their trust.

  “You ready?” Hayden asked.

  Sarah nodded.

  Holly didn’t do a thing. Not at first. Not right away.

  Then she glanced at Hayden again.

  Glanced, and nodded.

  Together, the three of them walked.

  Together, the three of them pushed on to Holyhead. Pushed on to whatever awaited.

  Together, the three of them trusted.

  But trust could be the greatest deception.

  Twenty-One

  You saved us.

  Those three words echoed around Holly’s mind as she walked with Hayden and Sarah. As they walked down the dirt track. As they snapped the necks of stray zombies that rushed at them, that launched themselves up the m
uddy hill at the side of the track desperate for a bite, eager to sink their teeth right in.

  You saved us.

  And maybe Hayden was right. Maybe Holly had saved him. Saved Sarah. Maybe she’d done a good deed. Gone against her morals killing the lioness. Stood against it, stood for the good of the group—for the survival of the group—and pulled the trigger to make sure the three of them survived.

  You saved us.

  Maybe she had.

  But she had her reasons.

  She had her motives.

  She gripped the gun tightly in her hand as they made their way to the front gates of the safari park. On her left, Holly saw a rhino. Standing there, cutting a solitary figure, all alone with nobody to help it, nobody to feed it.

  It stared back at her like it knew. Like it knew it was just like her.

  Like it understood her secret.

  Understood the truth.

  She felt the wound on her left forearm twinge. The site of the bandage. The site of the bite.

  She thought back to the dark cabin. How she’d sat inside there all alone, terrified to leave.

  How she’d curled up in a ball as the world went to shit all around her.

  As zombies marched through the streets.

  As bombs fell from the sky.

  She’d curled up in a ball and wished she was with Andy. Wished he was here with her to hold her hand. To tell her everything was going to be okay. To tell her they’d pull through this hell; both of them were strong and they’d pull through this hell.

  She wished he was there with her, right then, and she wished he was here with her, right now.

  But he wasn’t.

  He was in Holyhead.

  And that’s why Holly had to get to Holyhead.

  That’s why someone had to take her there.

  Someone stronger than her.

  Someone to protect her.

  She looked at the bandage on her arm and remembered what she’d done. The gamble she’d took.

  Sinking her teeth into her own skin.

  Pressing down and fighting against the first barrier of pain. Fighting as the skin split, as the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

  Fighting against the second barrier of pain as she reached the muscle. The raw muscle, rubbery like uncooked meat.

  Fighting against the third barrier of pain as she kept a vice grip on her flesh. As she kept on pressing down, harder, firmer.

  A risk.

  A fake bite wound.

  No. Not fake. Totally real. For it was a bite wound. She told everyone the truth about that. She had been bitten. She had survived. Made it this far.