by David Moody
“I’m not going,” he said abruptly. He fired once more.
“But this is madness. Come on, Jas, you’re confused. Think about Michael … he’s going to be a dad. What would you be doing if your kids were still alive? Would you have wanted them to stay here, or would you have wanted them to go to the island?”
Jas instinctively pressed his palm to his chest, feeling for the outline of his precious wallet under several layers of clothing. But then another group of bodies stumbled into view and he tried to fire again. The rifle was empty. Lorna tried to pull him away but he shrugged her off and marched toward the nearest corpse and clubbed it to the ground. Then another. Then another. And now he was surrounded. The slow trickle of bodies emerging had become an unsteady flood, more and more of them approaching all the time, attracted both by the distant flames and by Jas’s bluster.
Once more Lorna tried to pull him back but he just pushed her away, desperate to destroy every last one of the foul, disease-ridden cadavers which now seemed to be converging on him. There were scores of them everywhere he looked now: some limping, some crawling, some barely moving at all. Some were still nearly recognizable as people, others were little more than gelatinous heaps of decay that were somehow still able to function. Jas felt his legs weaken. He was surrounded, more of them approaching than he could deal with alone. He glanced back over his shoulder, looking for help, but even more bodies had sealed him off, preventing him from seeing Lorna now. She could still see him—just—and was poised to run deeper into the crowd to try and drag him away when Harte grabbed her from behind and pulled her to safety behind the garbage truck.
“Leave him,” he said.
“We can’t…”
“We can. We’ve got more important things to worry about.”
He stood back and she saw that Hollis was slumped on the floor, resting up against a grubby shop window. His clothes were soaked with blood. Lorna couldn’t process what she was seeing. She tried to talk, but no words came out. Caron was sitting by Hollis’s side, gently stroking his arm. She stood up and held Lorna.
“He got caught in the shooting,” she explained. “We didn’t even realize he’d been hit…”
Lorna crouched down next to Hollis. He looked up at her, his filthy face streaked with tears. There was blood on his lips.
“I know I don’t look so good these days,” he said, his voice hard to hear, “but I didn’t think Jas would mistake me for one of them.”
“Oh, Greg…” she said.
“You lot go on,” he mumbled, blood bubbling. “I’ll never make it.”
“He’s right,” Harte said. “We need to go.”
“What’s the point?” Lorna demanded, sobbing. The tears carved clean lines through the dirt and soot on her cheeks. “Let’s face it, we’re fucked.”
“Bloody hell,” Hollis said, forcing a grin. “Things must be bad if you reckon we’re fucked.”
“Just being realistic, that’s all.”
“Realistic!” Harte protested. “Christ, Lor, we’ve spent three months trying to avoid the walking dead, hiding in castles and hotels and the like, and you decide today’s the day to start talking about being realistic!”
“He’s got a point,” Kieran agreed.
“But we can’t just leave Hollis…”
“Yes, you can,” Hollis said. “Go, Lorna. Get out of here.”
“No…”
Hollis managed to lift his head slightly and looked up at Harte, who acknowledged his friend.
“Come on,” Harte said, gently picking Lorna up. She shook him off, wanting to say good-bye to Hollis, but she realized it was too late. She’d seen enough death to know there was no life left in his tired, glassy eyes.
Harte peered out around the front of the garbage truck. There were more corpses now—an incalculable number. The mass of dead bodies still trudging down the street toward the fire in the distance was undiminished, an unstoppable thick brown river of decay now. There was no sign of Jas; he’d long since been swallowed up. The bulk of the corpses seemed to be coming from the direction of the station, and the road to the car park was still relatively clear.
“What do you reckon?” Howard asked.
“Sprint for the car park,” he replied. “It’s our only option. Got to get up there and hope Richard turns up before the whole bloody town burns down.”
They grouped together, ready to move.
“Wait,” Caron said, looking around. “Where’s Michael?”
59
Michael was waiting for them at the entrance to the car park.
“Where the hell have you been?” Kieran asked.
Michael answered with his own question. “Who’s missing?”
“Hollis is dead,” Lorna replied. “Shot.”
“And Jas?”
“He’s dead too, presumably. We lost him in all those bodies.”
Michael nodded.
“Did you have something to do with that?” Howard asked. “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t just about him, you know,” he explained. “All I did was open up the station. I saw hundreds of them trapped there when I first came to this place. Figured I should let them out before we leave.”
“If we leave,” Kieran said.
“I just wanted your friend Jas to get an idea of what he would really be up against if he stayed here.”
Lorna shook her head and started to climb, not sure whether she believed Michael. She took Caron’s hand and led her up the corkscrew-shaped road. What they were going to do when they reached the roof, however, she had no idea.
They climbed over a plum-colored Mini which had crashed into a barrier, then stopped on the third floor of five and peered down into the streets below. The town was steadily filling with fire, building after building being eaten up by the heat and light. But somehow the position didn’t look as bad from up here as it had down at ground level. The fire hadn’t made as much progress as they’d feared. Michael was relieved; they’d have a good few hours before they’d need to move again.
Howard peered over the edge and looked directly down. Closer to the entrance to the car park he could see the station which Michael had opened up. Even now there was a massive column of bodies trying to escape. They played a bizarre game of follow-the-leader as they spilled out onto the street and walked toward the red-hot devastation in the distance.
And then, just for a second, he thought he caught a glimpse of Jas, still fighting in the midst of the chaos. It was impossible to be sure from up here, such was the extent of the dead masses which filled the street outside the car park. Was it really him, or had it just been more corpses reacting to each other? It was gone again in just a few seconds.
In the distance Kieran could see the farthest advanced of the bodies burning up, and he watched them with an unexpected mix of emotions: relief, first and foremost, that the time of the dead was finally coming to an end. These were undoubtedly their final days, their final hours perhaps. He also felt an undeniable sense of achievement that he’d made it through to see this moment—that he’d survived when so many millions of others hadn’t. And, strangely, he also felt pleased that, one way or another, everyone’s suffering would soon be over—living and dead alike. He understood why Michael had done what he’d done.
The others had left him behind. Kieran looked around, then started to run again, half the climb still to complete. His lungs felt as if they were full of smoke, and every step took a massive amount of effort. His thighs burned but he kept on moving, refusing to stop.
He eventually reached the roof and crossed the tarmac to stand with the others who were looking out over the burning town. Heavy palls of black smoke continued to rise up from the area along the sea front which was on fire. The dark, billowing clouds were blowing this way, almost blocking out the sun. From up here the world looked decidedly apocalyptic—like Judgment Day. What am I thinking? he asked himself wryly. This can’t be Armageddon. The world ended months ago.
“You lot took you
r time,” a voice said. Kieran spun around, his heart thumping, and found himself face-to-face with a familiar, scruffy-looking figure with a duffel bag over one shoulder and a newspaper tucked under his arm.
“Fuck me,” he gasped. “Hello, Driver.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Lorna demanded.
“What do you think I’m doing here? I heard there might still be people around who needed a lift.”
“But what about the others? Didn’t they get to the island?”
“I presume. I volunteered to stay back here.”
“You volunteered? Why?”
“Because I knew there’d be more of you to come. There’s times recently when you’ve been almost as slippery as me,” he said, pointing at Harte. “I thought if anyone could get away from that castle again, it’d be you.”
“But why here?”
“Harry said it’d be the safest bet. He said you’d probably end up back here looking for the helicopter, and he was right.”
“So where is it?”
“What, the helicopter?”
“Yes, the helicopter. What did you think I meant?”
“Oh, it’s still on the island as far as I’m aware.”
“So what are we going to do? Are you planning to bus us all over there?”
“Something like that. I’ve got another way out.”
Caron walked toward Driver, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions.
“I could kiss you…” she said.
“Maybe later,” he said, quietly pleased, as he led them back toward ground level.
60
The descent took less than half the time it had taken them to reach the top of the car park. Introductions and explanations were quickly completed on the way back down. Once they’d reached ground level the mayhem out on the streets immediately refocused Michael.
“So what’s the plan?”
“We head for the boats,” Driver replied.
“No use going down there,” Kieran said, “Jas totaled the place.”
“I know, I watched him. Can’t abide vandalism like that. Now I know you lot have just torched half the town, but I’m guessing you did that for a reason. What he did was just plain stupid.”
“So where are we going?”
“I had a word with your mates Richard and Harry before they left,” Driver said to Michael. “There’s another option, providing we can get past this lot.”
He watched the nearest of the corpses with the same nervous distrust they’d seen Jas display.
“They won’t hurt you,” Caron said.
“And you expect me to believe that after everything we’ve been through?”
“We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t true,” Michael said.
“Fair point,” Driver agreed, knowing he’d no choice now anyway. “Right, this way.”
He led them down toward the marina, carefully skirting around the edge of the vast crowd of corpses which were still swarming out of the station, all of them moving in the direction of the fire. They paid no attention to the living, the fire now their only focus. The air was dry, the smoke increasingly dense.
Less than ten minutes’ walking and they entered the marina, quickly making their way past the ruined boatyard they’d seen yesterday on their return to the town. Michael thought he knew where they were going. Driver led them past the gap in the moorings where the Summer Breeze and the Duchess had been moored, then into the more exclusive area where he’d spent his first night here on the luxury cruiser. Surely he can’t have got that started? he thought as he ran toward it.
“Not that one,” Driver said, gesturing a little farther along the jetty. “That one.”
He pointed at a boat just a fraction of the size of the first. It was beautifully appointed, but barely looked big enough to take the seven of them.
“Lovely,” Harte said sarcastically. He turned to look at Michael. “Think we can get it going?”
“We can give it a go,” Michael replied, sounding less than confident. He didn’t see they had any alternative.
“Your friend Harry’s already sorted out the engine,” Driver told them. “He said you lot left him here on his own for a day. He said this boat was in pretty good working order but he didn’t bother doing anything with it because it wasn’t big enough. Didn’t think he’d need it so he didn’t say anything, but he had it ready as a backup.”
“Good man, Harry,” Michael said under his breath.
“This is all well and good,” Caron said, eyeing the small vessel up with some unease, “but we’ve still got the little problem of trying to sail.”
“And then we’ve got to find the island,” Kieran added. “Are there any maps or…?”
He let his words trail away and looked at Driver, who was standing opposite them all, looking back at the burning town they were so desperate to leave.
“Have any of you lot ever heard of a bloke called Tony Kent?” he asked. Six blank faces returned six blank expressions.
“Was he someone you used to know who sailed boats?” Howard suggested.
“Something like that,” he replied. He tried another question. “Do any of you know what I used to do?”
“You drove buses,” Harte said quickly.
“Correct. Before that?” No answer. “I’ll tell you,” he explained. “Before I drove buses I was a tour guide. Before that, I studied.”
“Well done, you,” Lorna mumbled.
“And before that,” he continued, “I did fifteen years service in the navy.”
“You never said.”
“You never asked.”
It took a few seconds for the importance of what he was telling them to sink in. Michael was the first to twig.
“So you think you can…?” he started to say, too afraid to finish his question.
“What? Get you to the island? I’m a little rusty, but I think we’ll be okay.”
Harte grinned. “Bloody hell. I always said you were a dark horse.”
“When?” Michael asked. “Now?”
“Well, I’ve no reason to be hanging around here. Don’t know about you lot.”
The fact that Caron, Kieran, Howard, and Michael were already rushing to board the boat immediately answered Driver’s question. Lorna and Harte remained where they were for a moment longer.
“So who is Tony Kent?” Lorna remembered to ask just before she stepped off dry land.
“Who do you think?” Driver replied, thumping his chest. “It’s me, you daft bugger.”
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. Taken aback by the sudden show of affection, he wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye and hoped she hadn’t noticed.
“So what are we supposed to call you now?” Harte asked, determined not to let his emotions get the better of him. “Is it Tony now, or still Driver?”
“Tony would be nice once we get to this island,” he said. “I’ve done all the driving I’m going to, I think.”
“What about Sailor?” Harte laughed. Driver just glared.
Lorna and Harte got onto the boat. It looked like it was going to be as tight a squeeze as he’d predicted. Driver shoved his well-read newspaper into his bag, then left it on the side of the jetty.
61
This was a boat which had never been designed for making sea crossings. More at home pottering along rivers or drifting along the Norfolk Broads and similar gentle waterways, the overloaded little vessel was clearly struggling. The group’s euphoria at having finally made it off the mainland disappeared quickly, replaced with an undeniable unease. They felt uncomfortably low in the water, and despite the relatively clear sky overhead, the vicious wind continued to whip up the waves and repeatedly knock them off course. The seven survivors crammed onto the boat were cold, wet, and afraid.
But it could have been worse.
They could have died last September along with everyone else, Lorna thought. They could have got sick like Ellie and Anita and ended their time alone, despe
rately frightened, wallowing in their own waste. They could have cracked under the pressure of everything that had happened like Webb and Martin Priest and, most recently, Jas, or died senselessly like Ainsworth, Hollis, or Jackson. They could have fallen apart in any one of a hundred thousand different ways but they hadn’t, not yet. They could have been trapped in the burning chaos of Chadwick, or buried under the castle, or they might still be trapped on the first floor of the besieged hotel, but they weren’t. Unlike most people she’d come across since the end of the world, the seven of them still had a chance, albeit a small one. No matter how positive she tried to make herself feel, however, the endless gray water which surrounded them now made their situation feel increasingly hopeless again.
Driver used a compass and a map to navigate, doing his best to hide the fact that he was struggling from the others. Although shielded from the worst of the sea spray which soaked everyone and everything else, the rolling waves were making it increasingly difficult to concentrate. And they’d just reached a psychologically important point, he realized as he looked up and around for inspiration. His last visual reference point had disappeared far behind them, the faintest trace of the smoke hanging over Chadwick still remained like a smudge on the horizon, but otherwise there was absolutely nothing. He turned back around to face the bow again, trying to avoid catching the eye of any of the others for fear of starting another uncomfortable, slightly panic-tinged conversation which, inevitably, wouldn’t do them any good. Instead, he just looked into the rolling waves; port, starboard, aft, bow … all he could see in every direction was water now.
* * *
Another hour, maybe slightly longer, and the silent nervousness in the boat had reached new levels. Conditions were deteriorating. The wind had picked up markedly, and although the sea wasn’t particularly wild, to the seven people in the inappropriately small boat being knocked around by the waves, it certainly felt that way.
Caron was beginning to panic. Lorna, despite feeling increasingly anxious herself, did what she could to calm her. Michael squeezed through the others to reach Driver. Harte did the same, his sudden movements far less subtle than Michael’s.