Holiday of the Dead

by David Dunwoody

  The door was open wide enough now to allow the lead figure to squeeze its head through and Doyle knew that he only had one more chance. He sucked in a breath and made a dive for the keys, ignoring the hands that grabbed and raked at him. One hand gripped his wrist and the coldness seemed to suck at his own body, numbing his arm in seconds.

  The hand was caked with dirt; its fingernails were long, split and torn but its grip was limp and without force. Doyle pulled his hand away and stretched towards the keys. His finger pulled at the ring as another hand grabbed his hair and pulled. He screamed. The attacker who had fallen against the door was suddenly in front of him, looking straight into his eyes.

  The reek of decay hit Doyle as the attacker leaned towards his outstretched hand with its mouth wide open. Doyle steeled himself and forced his hand closer to the gaping mouth, grabbed at the keys and wrenched his hand back. Drool from the thing’s mouth smeared his wrist and he spent precious seconds wiping his hand in disgust against his trousers before he could bear to continue.

  He pushed hard against the door but one of the things had got its head through and Doyle couldn’t force the door closed. Suddenly the head was struck by a wooden plank and the figure was sent sprawling back against its companions, allowing Doyle to slam the door closed. He looked up to see Atkins with a metre long weapon in his hand and nodded mutely. He looked down at the keys again and finally found one that looked right. He rammed it into the lock and slumped in relief as he felt the lock click home.

  The naked woman pressed against the glass and Doyle found himself rooted to the spot as he stared into the woman’s dead eyes. His mind was still trying to come up with a rational explanation but the theories proposed were getting more and more desperate. These people were dead. Of that he had no doubt. How they could move about he had no idea but that they were dead was certain. The naked woman was fairly recently deceased but some of the figures behind her had been dead for some time. One man had decayed to such an extent that much of the flesh had already peeled away from his skull and one eye had fallen from its socket. Another woman had obviously been involved in an accident of some sort and bore puckered scars across her throat that exposed the bone.

  “Here, this might give it better support,” Atkins came up behind him with a desk that had one of the wooden supports missing from its main strut. “There are a few more in the store room,” Atkins panted as he manoeuvred the desk into place against the door. Doyle was surprised at the headmaster’s calm; he had expected the man to be impossible and overbearing, even in a crisis. He nodded at the man and sighed in relief. They just might get through this after all.

  There was mayhem upstairs. Students stood around on the stairs or wandered aimlessly along the corridors in small groups, their pale faces attesting to the subject of their hushed conversations. The buzz of their exchanges was like a swarm of bees and Doyle could see teachers moving among the groups, their voices raised in pitch but lacking any real authority as their own fear stripped them of their authority. They were frightfully outnumbered by the students and losing control fast. Doyle was about to shout when Atkins surprised him again. He strode forward into the throng.

  “Right, first to third years into rooms twelve and thirteen, open out the partition so you can all fit. Seniors, take room eleven. Move it, boys.” His calm, authoritative voice easily cut through the melee and the boys began to filter into the rooms like chastened sheep.

  “Impressive,” Doyle heard himself mutter.

  “Why thank you, Richard,” he replied and walked after the boys to ensure they followed his instructions. Doyle was left staring at the man’s back with his mouth open.

  He saw Theresa come out from the classroom opposite his own.

  “Any luck with the police, Theresa?”

  “No, but I don’t think we’re likely to get through.” She stopped in the doorway, looked along the corridor and motioned discreetly for Doyle to come over. “There’s something you need to see.”

  Doyle frowned but followed her through into the room. This classroom was opposite his own and looked out over the main road. The windows had been replaced a few years ago with thick, sound-proofed glass due to the growing distraction of the traffic outside so the room was blissfully quiet when he entered. Theresa strode over to the window but didn’t look out, turning instead to watch Doyle approach.

  “I don’t think we can expect help anytime soon.”

  Doyle knotted his eyebrows in confusion but Theresa merely pointed towards the window. Doyle shrugged and looked out. The road was filled with cars, unusual at this hour but not completely unknown. The silence of the scene before him left him feeling disassociated from reality. Car doors lay open; smoke spiralled from overheated engines where vehicles had crashed into posts or other cars. People ran aimlessly, their mouths open in silent screams as other, slower figures pursued them relentlessly. Bodies lay on the ground or slumped in their cars, unmoving and oblivious to the carnage around them.

  “They must have come from the graveyard. Jesus, there are so many,” Theresa continued to keep her eyes away from the scene as she spoke. Doyle could hear the panic just under the surface in her voice.

  Doyle merely nodded mutely as he studied the scene below with growing panic. Some cars were surrounded and the creatures pummelled the doors and windshields ineffectively. He couldn’t see the occupants of the cars but could imagine their terror in such an enclosed space, almost like a living tomb.

  There were hundreds of the things. Just as he was about to turn away he saw movement in a car across the road from the school. He squinted and gasped as he locked eyes with a woman in the vehicle. His heart missed a beat and he brought his hand to the window.

  The woman suddenly bolted upright as she realised that there were people in the school. Doyle saw the car door open and the woman sprint across the road towards the school gates. A few creatures in the area turned towards her, attracted by the sudden movement and slowly began to follow.

  The woman ran, weaving in and out of the abandoned vehicles. Doyle felt his heart quicken and leaned against the window to see how many of the creatures were in her path. He pressed his head hard against the glass but couldn’t see the area directly in front of the doors to the school.

  “Theresa,” he said urgently. “Get someone down there to open the main door, we’ve …”

  Just then he saw the woman stumble over the path, trip and fall heavily. She pushed herself to her feet but her leg collapsed under her and she fell to her knees.

  “Get someone down the …” he began again but then saw the creatures loom closer. The woman started to crawl towards the school but they were moving faster than her now and soon caught up. There was a brief second where Doyle locked eyes with the woman again and then the creatures surrounded her. He knew the cries and screams must be horrific but he could hear nothing. He felt a tear well up in his eyes and drip slowly down the contours of his face, tickling as it fell.

  “We couldn’t have opened the door anyway,” Doyle started as Atkins laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

  Doyle felt like screaming at Atkins, at his callousness, but he knew that would be unfair. He was right, of course. That didn’t help the feeling of guilt though.

  Would the woman have made a break for the school if she hadn’t seen him? Was it his fault?

  He pushed the thoughts away as he looked once more at the circle of creatures. Some of them were already moving away, their hunger sated, while others still groped and pulled at the remains. Mercifully his view remained blocked. People were relying on him. He couldn’t afford the luxury of falling apart. He balled his hand into a fist and turned away abruptly.

  They had work to do.

  “Okay, let’s go over what we know.” Atkins addressed the teachers. “Richard, you have some suggestions I believe”

  Doyle looked around at the sea of familiar faces and uncertainty suddenly gripped him. They were all scared, some more than others. Everyone was pale, the
strain of the last few hours had hit them hard and they looked at him for guidance and hope. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a lot of that to give.

  He crossed to the board and began writing headings, gaining confidence in the familiar activity. “Okay, we’ve got some food and drink downstairs in the school shop.” He wrote two of the teachers’ names under the first heading, “John, Peter I need you to raid the pantry and bring up everything you can find. The food will keep the boys quiet for a while. The important thing is to keep their attention away from what’s happening outside; we’re really not set up to contain a panic.” The two men nodded and disappeared.

  “Joanne,” he turned from the board and walked over to the headmaster’s personal assistant. The woman was in her late fifties and sat away from the others with her head in her hands. “Joanne, dear, I really need you to keep trying the phones, see if you can get anyone at all. Friends, family, anyone who can confirm if this is widespread or local. See if they can contact the police for us and get some help.” The woman nodded and began punching numbers into a mobile, the distraction of something to do giving her strength.

  Doyle wrote the word ‘Weapons’ on the board.

  “Keith,” he looked over at the diminutive English teacher. “I need you to break up a few of the desks; those wooden runners make good clubs. Get a few of the boys to help you. Oh, and confiscate any knives that might be around, I don’t want some fool stabbing himself.”

  He turned back to the board and wrote ‘Communications’. “Bill,” he turned to the Chemistry teacher, “I need you to go down to the office and bring up the radio, we need to get an idea of what’s going on.”

  “We have to assume and plan for the worst case scenario. There are too many of them out there and I don’t think we can stay here indefinitely.” Doyle paused to catch his breath. He was avoiding discussing his theories on what the things outside were. He had to keep everyone busy and focused on keeping the school secure. They could broach the subject of what they were and how it had happened when they had more time. “The doors won’t hold if enough of them gather but the windows are probably our weakest point.”

  “Agreed, so what should we do?” Atkins prompted. Doyle was amazed at how the man was comfortable to let him lead in this and not feel the need to be in control all the time.

  “We need to close and lock all of the classrooms downstairs. Luckily, all of the side doors are situated at an angle at each end of the building so they shouldn’t be able to get too many pushing against them at the same time. They should hold.”

  “The main door is a problem though.” Atkins mused.

  “I don’t think it can hold,” Doyle agreed. “We can pile desks, tables and anything else we can find against it but if their numbers grow then their sheer weight will break through.”

  “Right,” Atkins joined him at the board and added to the growing list. Bill Masters arrived with the radio and set it up in the corner. He looked at the board and started for the door again.

  “I’ll begin at the far end and work my way back. I’ll get the keys from Peter,” Masters said and disappeared.

  “Bill,” Doyle shouted after him. “Take a few of the older boys with you, you might need the bodies.” Masters popped his head around the door, nodded and disappeared.

  Theresa walked over to the radio and began to look for a station with news.

  “… Nothing is confirmed at the moment but there are reports coming in of multiple accidents and traffic jams throughout the city. There have been some reports of attacks in the city also but details are sketchy at the moment. Police have asked for calm and have requested that motorists park their cars off the main routes to allow emergency services to get through.”

  “Either they know less than us or they’re playing it down,” Atkins said. “Regardless, it looks like it’s pretty widespread. We need …”

  The sudden shattering of glass downstairs interrupted him and all three of them rushed to the stairs.

  They met Bill Masters on his way back up the stairs.

  “They’ve broken through.”

  Doyle grabbed a wooden runner from the pile that Keith Purcell had compiled and he rushed down to join Masters. The two teachers returning from the food run dropped the food into the eager arms of a few seniors, armed themselves and ran after them.

  Doyle could hear Atkins ordering the food to be distributed as he ran towards the breach and the faint sighs of disappointment from the seniors.

  The main doors were wide open. As he had thought, the sheer weight of the people pushing against them had been too much for the old hinges. As he reached the corridor Doyle could see a swarm of figures pour through the gap. Many of them fell under the weight of those behind them and disappeared beneath the flood of dead flesh.

  The figures varied greatly; he could see grey desiccated figures, barely able to move and fresher corpses, their wounds still puckered and wet from where their flesh had been torn in life.

  They slowly filled the corridor and began to creep forwards, slowly but ineluctably; unstoppable like the incoming tide.

  There was no way they could stop this many.

  “Back upstairs,” Doyle shouted. The others didn’t need to be told twice and sprinted back the way they had come.

  “It’s useless, we can’t hold them,” he panted as he reached the top of the stairs. Atkins nodded and took him by the arm, leading him over to one of the rooms.

  “Bill,” he called behind him, “get the boys ready. We’re going to have to make a break for it.”

  “We don’t have much time, Richard” Atkins still held his arm but seemed to be oblivious of the contact. “I’ve had a quick look outside and the north yard seems to be the best chance. Those things seem to be congregated mainly around the doors at each end so if we go out through the middle windows we should be able to get most of the boys clear before they realise what we’re doing. What do you think?”

  Doyle looked at the headmaster as if he was mad. We’re on the first floor, the thought screamed into his mind, what is he talking about?

  “The pole vault cushion is still in the storeroom from last month’s sports day,” Atkins explained patiently as he saw Doyle’s confusion. “I need you to get it and drag it into place below the window. We’ll hold them off as long as we can, but please hurry.” Doyle felt a key pressed into his hand and then Atkins was gone, shouting orders to those around him and organising what delaying tactics they could.

  Doyle ran to room 14, ignoring the confusion around him. He saw Bill Masters and grabbed him, explaining what was happening on the way. The windows on the first floor were allowed to open outward for six inches before they reached a metal support that had been put in place after the tragic loss of a student a few years ago who had fallen out while opening the window.

  “We’ll have to break it,” Bill offered and went to get the board duster to smash the glass.

  “No, they might hear it,” Doyle said and then wondered whether they could hear at all. They knew next to nothing about these things and their lack of knowledge could get them all killed. “We need to get as many away as we can before they notice what we’re doing. Hand me that pole would you?” He pointed at a wooden pole used to open the top windows and immediately jammed the end under the metal support and pulled down on the pole.

  Nothing happened for almost a minute and then suddenly there was a loud pop and the metal support flew outward and landed on the concrete below with a loud clang. Doyle held his breath as he waited but after a minute went by and he could still see nothing in the yard below he allowed himself to exhale. He nodded to Masters and one by one they slid out onto the ledge.

  There was a small gutter running along the roof above them and this fed into a metal pipe that ran down the centre of the building and into the drainage system beneath the school. The pipe looked stable enough but it creaked and groaned alarmingly as the men climbed down. At one stage the screws above them pulled right out from the wall but
the lower supports held until they reached the ground. There was no way the pipe would support anyone else though. Masters looked at the screws and then at Doyle. He didn’t have to say anything. This plan would have to work or the people they had left in the school would be overrun. And there was no way they would be able to get back to them to help.

  The storeroom was situated at the back of the school and across the yard. To get there they would have to pass close to the east wing’s door. This proved easier than they had thought on the way to the stores but on the way back the two men would be struggling with a heavy canvas cushion and the scraping of the material along the ground was sure to alert the creatures.

  The two men reached the storeroom without incident and rushed inside. Doyle looked around frantically. It wouldn’t take the creatures long to overrun the others and every second saved could mean the life of another boy. In some part of his mind he knew it was unlikely that they would save everyone but he forced himself not to dwell on it. He could only do so much. It was really a matter of best effort at this stage.

  He heard an urgent whisper and looked over at Masters who was pulling at the corner of a bright blue material.

  “Good man,” he rushed over to help and they began to drag the cushion out. By the time they had succeeded in dragging it outside they were both exhausted, although Doyle’s watch indicated it had only taken five minutes.

  “We’ll never manage it,” Masters wheezed as he scanned the yard to see if their activity had attracted any attention. Doyle looked over the cushion and frowned; it was some ten feet wide and twenty feet long. By far the most awkward element was its thickness though. It wasn’t that it was particularly heavy but it was filled with foam and sealed tight to allow for the weight of an athlete to drop safely from a great height so it was difficult to get a firm grip on the material.