by Ryan Casey
Movement in the wing mirror.
Holly started to feel a little uncertainty creep up her body when the passenger door opened.
When a bulky man with long grey hair leaned out and looked down at her. Rotting black teeth. Smell of sweat strong in the air.
“Y’alright, missy?”
Holly moved her arm behind her back. She didn’t want to be with these people. She couldn’t trust them. She’d find someone else. She’d—
“Hey. I’m talkin’ to yer. Rude to ignore. Y’alright?”
Holly lowered her head. Walked towards the back of the coach. She had to run. She had to hide. Whatever she did, she had to get away.
Closer to the back of the coach.
Engine still rumbling.
Not a word from—
Then a hand on her shoulder.
A shitty-tasting hand around her mouth.
Dragging her back towards the coach.
“Rude to ignore,” a man said, then licked her cheek with his long, eel-like tongue.
Holly struggled. Struggled as piss crept down her thigh. Struggled and struggled to get his hand away, to tell them, tell them anything so they’d let her go, let her free.
“I—I’m bitten,” she shouted, still struggling, still kicking and fighting. “I’m—I’m bitten.”
The man behind her stopped dragging her. Stood still. She could feel his heavy heart racing. Smell the booze on his breath, in his hair.
He loosened his grip on Holly and Holly prepared to run. Prepared to leg it away from here. Anyone but this man. Anywhere but here.
And as she moved, she felt his hand tighten again.
Felt him drag her back.
Grab her mouth.
Press his lips to her right ear.
“I don’t give a shit whether you been bit or not,” he said.
And then, as much as Holly struggled, fought, kicked and spat, the man dragged her back to the passenger door of the coach.
Dragged her up the steps.
Dragged her into his lair.
Slammed the door shut.
He pushed her down into a damp seat. The smell of sweat strong in the air. Sweat and blood. Sweat and rot.
Flies buzzing all over the place.
Maggots dripping from the ceiling.
“Buckle up,” the man said, dragging Holly’s wrists around the back of the first chair and cuffing them tight behind it. “Gonna be one helluva ride.”
He spun the loose, broken chair around so Holly could see the back of the coach.
Holly thought she was afraid. She thought she knew what it was to be terrified.
But when she looked into the back of this coach, she really did understand.
For the first time in her life, she felt pure terror.
Thirty-Four
Hayden wasn’t sure how long Sarah had been driving.
Only that the road didn’t change. The abandoned cars he’d got so sick of seeing didn’t change. The bodies he’d grown so accustomed to piled up. Men. Women. Children. Animals.
All of them had ignited nausea inside him whenever he used to see them.
Now they were just a part of the backdrop. A part of the surroundings. Like trees.
Like abandoned cars.
Like zombies.
“Guessing we’ll just head back then,” Sarah said.
It wasn’t really a question. More a fact. After all, what else was there to do but head back to Riversford?
“Least we’ll see Martha and Amy again,” Sarah continued, her foot right down on the accelerator. Hayden didn’t want to look at the fuel gauge. Didn’t want to know how much or how little petrol they had left. Cross that bridge when they came to it.
All that mattered now was …
What mattered now?
What mattered at all anymore?
“Hopefully they’re okay. We should never have—”
“You feeling better?” Hayden asked.
Sarah glanced over at him. The colour was back to her cheeks. Her hair was still mangly, but fuck—so was everyone’s now. She half-smiled at him. Nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I am. Are you?”
Hayden looked away then. He didn’t like people asking him if he was okay, not anymore. Not since the world went to shit. Because he wasn’t. He really fucking wasn’t. How could anyone be okay? How could anyone even pretend to be okay anymore?
“I’m fine,” he said.
Sarah turned back. Looked ahead at the road. In the trees to the right of them, Hayden saw movement. The familiar movement of zombies. Infected stepping out onto the concrete, alerted by the roar of the engine. “What Holly did,” she said. “What happened to Gary—”
“I killed Gary,” Hayden said.
He wasn’t expecting the words to leave his mouth. Wasn’t expecting to ever make the confession. But he did. He did and the words were out there, irreversible, hanging in the air like something dead.
Sarah looked at him again. Narrowed her eyes. “What … what d’you mean you—”
“He stepped in that trap and I … I couldn’t get him out,” Hayden said, the flow of words failing to cease. “I tried. I tried but—but the zombies were so close. They were so close to both of us—”
“Hayden, slow down. What are you saying?”
“I knocked him out then I left a saw by his side and I …” He tasted vomit. Gulped it down, burning his throat. “I left him for dead.”
There was a silence in the car then. A long, drawn out silence that seemed to grow more uncomfortable the more time stretched on. And Hayden understood why. He understood his own hypocrisy. The hypocrisy of leaving Holly to fend for herself all because she’d been selfish. The same level of selfishness he’d shown, only on a different level.
’Cause everyone was selfish in this world. That was the truth. Everyone had to be selfish to survive.
“Did you … did you have no choice?” Sarah asked.
“I had a choice,” Hayden said. “There’s—there’s always a choice.”
“Would you have died if—”
“I knocked him out ’cause I didn’t want him to suffer. I—I left the saw by his side just in case. But there was no way he was coming out of that trap without both of us dying. There was no way he was—”
“Then you did the right thing,” Sarah said.
She looked at Hayden. Nodded. And Hayden saw a flicker of detachment in her eyes. A look of, “I’d do the same to you.”
He hoped that wasn’t the case.
Hoped it wasn’t true.
But everyone had to do what they had to, to survive.
Everyone had to be selfish.
That was just the way of the world now.
“I didn’t do the right thing,” Hayden said.
“Hayden you—”
“I did the only thing. Sometimes the only thing isn’t the right thing.”
He thought back to Holly.
Thought back to the way he’d left her on the road. Pretty much signed her death sentence. Sure, she’d lied. Sure, she’d tried to fucking kill Sarah.
But she’d done what she thought was the only thing.
She’d done what she thought was the only thing she could to survive.
“Stop the car,” Hayden said.
Sarah scanned her surroundings. Instinctive search for infected. “What’s up?”
“Stop the car. Turn around.”
She turned. Frowned. “Hayden what—”
“We’re going back.”
“Back where?”
“We’re going back for Holly.”
Sarah didn’t stop the car. She didn’t turn it around. “Are you fucking insane? She tried to—”
“I know what she tried to do. I know fucking well what she tried to do. But she only did what we’d do if we thought it might get us to a place we care about most.”
“I can’t believe you’d actually say that.”
“It’s the truth,” Hayden said, hands tingling. “All of us are selfish. W
e’re fucking driven by our own selfish desires, our own impulses. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be together. That doesn’t mean we’re beyond saving.”
Sarah shook her head but Hayden could see he’d got through to her. He could see she got what he was saying. They were all gigantic hypocrites in a world of hypocrisy.
But they were all bound by one thing.
The fact that they were human.
“Turn around Sarah. Please.”
“She tried to murder me.”
“But she didn’t murder you. You’re still here.”
Sarah turned. Looked at Hayden with an expression he couldn’t decipher. Either she was going to scream at him or tear his head off, one or the other.
In the end, she did neither.
She took her foot off the gas.
Slowed the car.
Turned the steering wheel.
For a moment, as they spun round and faced the road to Holyhead, Hayden felt apprehension build up inside. Not a bad kind of apprehension. But the apprehension that rose before doing something good. Doing something right.
Holly had tried to kill them.
She’d led them here for her own selfish interests.
But she was human.
She was human and she was sorry and for that reason, she didn’t deserve to be left behind.
He had these thoughts for a moment.
And then he saw the towering metal vehicle slamming through the distant zombies and tearing in his direction.
Fast.
Thirty-Five
“You see who’s driving?” Sarah asked.
Hayden shook his head. “Not yet. But whoever it is wants to get somewhere in a hurry.”
Hayden crouched down under an old red Renault Clio. Stunk of petrol under here, and it was a heck of a tight squeeze.
But it kept them out of the line of sight. Kept them under cover. For now, anyway.
Just had to hope it kept them under cover till the nutter in the silver coach flew past.
And just had to hope the nutter didn’t crash into them.
The way they were driving right now, Hayden couldn’t be too optimistic.
“Don’t like the look of ’em whoever it is,” Sarah said.
“Just got to keep our heads low and we’ll be okay. Then we’ll push back for Holly.”
Hayden heard Sarah grimace. Quite audibly.
But she didn’t protest.
Instead, she just stated the obvious truth: “If this wackjob leaves us a car to disappear in.”
Hayden held his breath as the coach powered closer. On the front of it, right on the grill, Hayden saw remains. Body parts. Bloodied pieces of flesh—decaying chunks of zombies torn away on its assault down the road. And the louder the tyres screeched against the tarmac, a sense of worry grew inside Hayden. Concern that somewhere down the road, Holly would’ve bumped into this driver. That they’d knocked her over.
Or worse.
That they’d picked her up.
He just had to hope his paranoia was off the mark, just this once.
The coach flew closer and it didn’t seem to slow down. The smell of diesel fumes spewing out of it was strong, and Hayden could feel the heat from its engine even from this distance.
“I … I don’t think it’s slowing down,” Sarah said.
Hayden stared into the murky window of the oncoming coach. He just had to hope. Hope it’d slow down. Hope it’d spin around the car they were inside. Hope the driver would take a peek inside the Honda Civic if that’s what it took to get him to stop.
Just had to hope they’d spin around the vehicle.
Just had to hope they wouldn’t have to flee from under this car.
Just had to …
A squeak. The squeaking of tyres against the concrete. Steam kicking up from them. Diesel fumes getting stronger, so strong they made Hayden’s eyes water.
And then the coach ground to a halt.
Ground to a halt right in front of Hayden. Right in front of Sarah.
Right in the middle of the road.
Hayden’s heart pounded. He could feel Sarah’s pulse racing through the tips of her fingers, too.
He squeezed the end of them.
She squeezed back.
Together, they waited. Hoped.
Nobody got out of the coach. And as much as Hayden tried to arch his neck without giving away any small signs of movement, he couldn’t see anyone through the window either. Too dusty. Too dirty.
The engine of the coach kept on rumbling. Behind it, way in the distance, zombies kept on walking. Hayden wanted to look over his shoulder. Wanted to check the other side of the Clio. Got the unwavering sense that he was being watched. That someone was eyeing him up as their prey.
Either a zombie or the person behind the glass.
Movement.
A door creaking open.
The side door of the coach.
The first thing Hayden saw were the leather boots. They made their way down the ladder by the coach entrance. Each step echoing down the empty road.
And then a voice.
A man’s voice. Hard to tell what he was saying. Impossible, in fact. But this was a man. This was a man and he was speaking to someone. He was …
He hopped down from the side of the vehicle.
Landed on the road.
He was big. A big, bulky man with long, straggly grey hair and impossibly yellow teeth. He had chains around his neck, a thick leather jacket. His black trousers were torn in places. On his face, a big smile, not at anyone in particular. Just the sign of a man who was totally content with life.
Anyone who was totally content with this life was a cause for concern.
“Well, well, fuckin’ lovely day,” the man mumbled.
He walked out onto the concrete. Walked in Hayden and Sarah’s direction. Every footstep heavy. Solid.
Hayden tightened his grip on Sarah’s hand.
“Fuckin’ beautiful day to take a break from time to time,” he said in this incredibly northern brand of gibberish. Still wasn’t clear to Hayden whether the guy was talking to himself or whether he knew damn well he and Sarah were watching him.
Just had to hope.
He didn’t want to kill anyone. Not anymore. Didn’t want to risk starting a feud with a wider bunch of crazies.
But he would if he had to.
If he absolutely had to.
The man walked right over to the Clio. Slowly. Whistling through the gap in his rotting teeth. The smile still covered his face as he looked up at the sky, scanned the clouds.
“Used to hate days like this,” he said. “Used to—to hate it when the clouds came and fuckin’ kill-joyed the sun. Not anymore. Not anymore. Beautiful days. Beautiful drivin’ days.”
He stopped. Stopped right by the bonnet of the Clio.
Hayden let go of Sarah’s hand.
Still holding his breath.
He reached for his pocket. Reached for the wrench.
Pulled it out and got ready to swing it.
The man didn’t budge. Didn’t say another word. All Hayden could see of him were his legs. All he could smell was sweat and piss and shit. Interspersed with cheap aftershave. Like the guy was trying to cover up the fact he reeked but making the stench even more pungent in the process.
“Whaddyoo say, Pamela? Eh? Whaddyoo think?”
Hayden looked around. Looked around for a woman. Someone who might be called Pamela.
But it was just him. Just him alone. Just a lone psycho and a coach.
He could handle someone if they were alone.
He could pull back this wrench and crack his shins and …
The guy unzipped his flies and an immense smell of urine seeped out almost as quickly as the piss itself. The guy peed all over the front of the Clio. Let his dark orange piss seep right down the bonnet, pool on the road in front of them, drift back and cover Hayden and Sarah in its acidic dampness.
The guy just whistled as he kept on pissing, k
ept on pissing.
When he finally stopped about thirty seconds later, Hayden was holding his breath and doing his best not to puke. His hands and knees were soaked. He could taste the guy’s piss on his lips. Couldn’t be healthy. Couldn’t possibly be healthy.
“Nice day,” he said, zipping his flies and scratching his ass. “Nice day. But everyone’s just gotta keep on movin’ now.”
He turned around and walked back towards the coach.
Hayden’s stomach started to loosen. His breathing returned, even though the simple act of breathing was nigh on impossible with the stench of piss so strong.
He put his wrench back in his pocket. Grabbed Sarah’s hand again.
Waited as the guy climbed up the ladders.
As he pulled the coach door right back.
As he …
Then Hayden saw it.
He didn’t understand at first. Didn’t understand what he was looking at. Who he was looking at.
And then, in an instant, it clicked.
Holly.
Holly was in that coach.
Tied up in a seat just behind the driver’s one.
Gag wrapped around her mouth.
Shaking. Struggling. Crying.
Sarah gasped when she saw her.
She gasped, covered her mouth right away, realising her error.
The guy stopped. Stopped climbing the ladder. Peeked out onto the road.
He looked around, the smile gone from his face. Reached into his baggy pocket and pulled out a knife. Swung it around as he turned, like this was all some big performance to him.
Behind the coach, the zombies got closer.
So close Hayden could hear their footsteps.
“Come on, Pamela,” he said, lowering his knife. “Let’s get back on the road. Don’t wanna be late for supper.”
He slammed the coach door shut.
A few seconds later, the coach started moving again.
And as it departed, as it drove around the Clio, around the Civic, Hayden couldn’t help but shake the image of Holly tied up in that chair from his mind.
“What now?” Sarah said.
Hayden stared into the mass of oncoming zombies, listened to the tyres of the coach screech against the concrete.
“I think we both know what now,” he said.